To paint, or not to paint?

Ok, I admit it - I'm a girly girl. Which is why, on a dark stormy night last week here in Flatland when our dishwasher broke and half our lovely kitchen collapsed for no apparent reason, my first concern was not for the potentially fire-causing dangling electrical wires in the wall, but my fingernails.

In the midst of the lightening and thunder flying around us, my husband is on the floor with a mop handle attempting to somehow lift the dishwasher back onto its dodgily made platform, muttering about fire hazards and water leakage while I stared at my nails which I had been dutifully filing every day in preparation for a lovely shade of hot pink.

After an hour of heaving, shoving and mopping (if the Dutch were as curious as I about looking in people's large front windows, we would've provided the entire neighborhood with enough entertainment to base a sitcom off), the dishwasher was back in place - on a noticeable lean - and the skirting boards clipped back on. I breathed a sigh of relief - surely that was the hard part???

After a few emails and phone calls, we had an appointment a few nights later for our landlady and her boyfriend to come and view the damage. Thankfully, both our real estate agent and landlady speak some English, so I didn't have to spend the afternoon glued to google translate in preparation for their visit. After much muttering in Dutch that I pretended to understand (living in foreign countries has made me a pro at the smile-and-nod move) while inspecting the dishwasher & cupboards, it was decided that the work of a professional was needed. A few days later, at no set time of the day (the 'we'll be there anytime between 9am and 5pm rule also applies over here apparently) in comes the dishwasher fix it man. After a hurried goedemorgen and before attempting any further Dutch, I rush him up the stairs and point at the start button - niet werken, niet werken. Turns out he actually spoke reasonable English and after many more mutterings and unscrewing the ... I guess it's the motherboard of dishwashers?, he gleefully points at the fried electrical segment and tells me our dishwasher is thirty year old (I think he meant 3 - I don't think pretty stainless steel Whirlpools fitted in with the home decor of the early 1980's) and we either need a new one or the part replaced...

Now as I sit and wait for our landlady to make her decision and repair our precious dishwashing machine, I once again find myself staring at my fingernails. After more then a week of scrubbing saucepans and carefully rinsing wine glasses, I have since given up on my daily file. The question is - to paint, or not to paint?

Although the Dutch are generally quite efficient, I have a feeling I might be elbow deep in soapy water for longer then I had anticipated. Perhaps this housewife will celebrate the return of the dishwasher with a visit to the manicurist. Although, the thought of the time required to carefully practice my manicure related words with my old friend, google translate (sadly, although Nederlands voor anderstaligen explained the necessary phrases for a visit to the doctor, a visit to the beauty salon was not covered) kinda puts a dampener on that one....