How to take part in the world's most stupid exercise:
Step 1. Buy rather expensive laundry appliances from a reputable and trusted dealer.
Step 2. Pay money for them to be delivered and installed.
Step 3. Pay money to simultaneously have a licensed plumber available at the time of delivery because he has to unhook the gas from the old gas dryer and hook it up to the new one. (No one can touch gas hookups except the gas company or a licensed plumber. Preferably one with an IQ higher than 12.)
Step 4. Discover, after the installers leave, that neither appliance works.
Step 5. Listen to the stupid Typepad-esque answer of "It's probably your fault." Argue the point. Demand that someone come make them work.
Step 6. Have them come, purportedly fix them, then leave, when you're gone.
Step 7. Return home to find them NOT fixed in the least.
Step 8. Rinse and repeat (Not the laundry. The appliances don't work, remember? The process. It's a figure of speech.)
Step 9. Return home after a stay away because of bad weather to find that one of the two now works (the water pipe threads were stripped by the first installers), but the other doesn't.
Step 10. Throw a tantrum and insist that the other one get fixed or they can come pick up their hunks of steel and "gimme my money back."
Step 11. Wash tons of laundry that has been building up and hang it to dry on racks (At least it's economical, green, and probably the Right Thing To Do. Except when one has just bought a $1,000+ appliance to do the same.)
Step 12. Call the plumber and ask, "John, um...is it, um, possible you, um, did not turn on the gas?" (You can see what's coming, can't you?)
Step 13. Listen to the plumber reassure you, "Oh, yes. I came back a second time to be SURE it was on. Your dryer is going to work, don't you worry. All you have to do is turn it on and off manually four or five times. Well, you might have to do it 12 times, because there is air in the gas hose. And then it will work."
Step 14. Stand there stupidly turning the dryer on and off for the next 2.5 hours, at least 1,009 times. Still cold.
Step 15. Scream bloody murder to the sales place. Get a call from the repairman, who says, "It must be that the igniter got cracked during delivery."
Step 16. Go to work before the repairman arrives Monday morning.
Step 17. Arrive home after work to get the message from spouse that......
have you guessed it yet? Of course you have:
Step 18. The *&^%$# gas had not been turned on.
It was only the extremely timely arrival of my copy of Franklin's book
that saved me from doing something drastic. I turned to page 1 and started laughing. It was one and three-quarters hours later when I stopped to catch my breath, only to realize that I had completely lost the urge to disconnect the gas dryer hose and duct tape it to my mouth.
Oh Franklin, you are a sweet, funny dear, and now you may add Suicide Interventionist to your already impressive resume.
If I had gone to Harvard, do you think we would have ended up married?
Well, yes, there is that.
Never mind, then.
This book is a delightful and refreshing little gumdrop. Franklin's humor is smart and fresh and genuine, and you don't have to be a knitter to get it. When I put it down briefly to stir the pasta sauce, I had to wrest it from my non-knitting husband's hands so I could keep reading it. That, my friends, is an endorsement.
If you don't already have the book, ask Santa to put a copy in your stocking -- it will fit in there so nicely. Make sure you take a pee before you open it, though. Honestly.