Bella Imperia: The things I don’t say

I feel as though I have survived a great battle and emerged victorious from war. Not untouched, of course. No warrior leaves the battlefield without bruises, aches, and a few scars to prove the fight was real. But victorious nonetheless.

Today, I stood alone against a fearsome beast. Not a dragon of fire and smoke, nor some monstrous creature from legend—but something far more treacherous: my washing machine.

For days it sat there in silent defiance, mocking me with its broken springs and crooked drum. A metal tyrant planted in the laundry room, daring me to challenge it. Each glance it gave seemed to whisper, You cannot fix me.

Poor fool.

For I am not some helpless damsel waiting for rescue. I am a strong, independent woman armed with determination, stubbornness, and whatever tools I could find in the junk drawer.

So I entered the arena.

There was grunting. There was cursing. There were moments where I questioned every life choice that led me to wrestling an appliance before noon. There were screws dropped into unreachable places, fingers pinched in mechanical traps, and positions my back will be filing complaints about later.

At one point, I am fairly certain the machine laughed at me.

But I did not retreat.

I fought the springs with the tenacity of a seasoned warrior. I pulled, twisted, adjusted, and muttered threats under my breath. Sweat was shed. Pride was tested. Several dramatic sighs were released into the air like battle cries.

And then—at last—it happened.

The springs were set. The machine stood corrected. Balance was restored to the kingdom of Laundry.

I stepped back from my vanquished foe, victorious and slightly limping, like all heroes do at the end of a hard-fought war.

Did I receive applause? No.
Did anyone compose songs of my bravery? Not yet.
Did I save money by not calling someone else to do it? Absolutely.

This was a triumph forged by my own two hands. A reminder that sometimes the dragons we must slay are not grand or glamorous. Sometimes they are household appliances held together by spite and outdated hardware.

Still, a dragon is a dragon.

Now, as all great champions must, I shall retreat to recover from my heroic deeds. I require Tylenol for the wounds of battle, Epsom salt for my weary bones, and perhaps a moment of silence for the muscles I did not know I had.

Let history remember this day.

For I fought the dragon… and I won.

-Bella Imperia