Know a good repairman … for everything?

At first it was funny, the ha ha kind of funny when so many things go wrong you that just have to laugh.

The oven was the first to go. A part that "never" fails did just that, causing a brief but costly visit from a repairman.

Then the garage door jumped the track that, somehow, had gone totally out of whack as winter waned. Neighbors tell me the man of my dreams was quite the sight as he wrestled with the bulky door and muttered more than one cuss word.

Guess who won?

A couple hundred dollars and another repair visit later, I can tell you it wasn't the man of my dreams.

Then the dishwasher turned into a fountain. I know the kitchen floor needed a good scrub, but I would have gotten to it eventually. Honest. Another part that "rarely" fails had done just that.

No thank you, Mr. Repairman. Washing dishes by hand is good for the soul when you are living in a house under attack by the "break-it" gremlins, thank you very much.

A sinkful of hot, soapy water was just what my head needed when my car threw a timing belt, decimating what was left of an aging engine. The vacuum going kaput seemed relatively minor in comparison. So did the broken exhaust fan in the bathroom and the now-dead computer printer.

Even after said sink started to leak, we still could laugh. Doesn't everybody have a go-for-broke invasion that periodically seems to hit the home front ? Isn't it supposed to stop eventually?

At least we could chuckle until, as I shared with you recently, I got in the middle of an SUV sandwich -- while driving my son and daughter-in-law's car. Nothing like a ride in an ambulance to put the balky dishwasher in perspective.

For some reason, they haven't offered to let me borrow their new car.

Amid all the house repairs, we dealt with various medical emergencies for parents and children and loved ones. It was to the point where we started answering the phone: "What's wrong?"

Not so funny anymore.

As I grumbled to a friend the other night over dinner, the phone rang. I answered to hear my husband -- you know, the guy who lost the fight with the garage door? -- again muttering some very bad words.

"Hi hon, what's up?" I asked, my gremlin radar on full alert.

"I just had a car accident," he said. Good grief.

My face fell. My friend offered to fill my wine glass … to the top.

His car had hydroplaned on the tollway, spinning around four times before slamming into the cement median and, fortunately, missing the tractor trailer in the middle lane. The car is totaled. He's fine.

We're not laughing anymore.

But he's fine, I'm fine, our children and their significant others are fine. We've lost too many loved ones, had too many scares in recent years to let broken stuff and busted cars color our world.

Things can be fixed or replaced. People can't. So we're actually feeling very lucky in spite of the gremlins.

Still, our son and daughter have asked us to just stay home from now on.

I told them we would ... but we're afraid the roof might fall in.