I went appliance shopping with my friend this week. She was shopping for the multiple items that had died in her kitchen, and I was shopping for the house in Provincetown.
We understand each other, which means that we looked at everything without considering expense, and then made decisions based on how hard we coughed when we were told the price.
Going with each other also meant that we had a buddy to ask the saleswoman things like, “How often does the soft boiled egg cup dishwasher basket break?” and “Does the anodizing setting on the oven discolor the racks?”
Not to sway opinion, just to show we were no fools. Obviously we need the optional $10,000 anodizing setting and $5,000 soft boiled egg cup baskets. How else will we clean up after a proper brunch, or gild our cakes?
I got stuck in a dishwasher quandary and ended up ordering two, not because I need two, but because the lead times are so long, and I don’t actually have a kitchen layout yet for the house. So I made sure I wouldn’t be charged a restocking fee, told my credit card to be quiet, and paid the deposit on both. That gives me a month or more to make up my mind.
One of the dishwashers is the same model I have in my city home. I didn’t mean to get this one, but my other one died at the beginning of the pandemic, and all they had in stock was a stupidly expensive Miele model that has ruined me for all other dishwashers from here on out. It’s whisper-quiet, it holds a huge amount when you need it to, it has a 1-hour cycle—unusual for a water-saving European machine—and, most importantly, it has soap cartridges that mean you don’t have to add the detergent every time you do a load of dishes. You just change the cartridge every twenty loads or so.
But it’s full-sized, and my new kitchen will be very small. Fisher & Paykel, meanwhile, makes dishwasher drawers that take up less room, and would allow me a storage drawer beneath it for sheet pans or something else not too deep.
But you have to add the detergent every time. Like a peasant.
Anyway, we left the store with all that we’d needed and more (someone remind me to cancel the extras, please—I also ordered an extra hood, again due to projected delivery dates and layout enigma), all in record time. Some people are good at team shopping. We get very little credit for this, but it’s an Olympic-level skill.
The weather that day was lousy, as it has been for the last month. January has now lasted at least nine weeks, and the only thing it promises is that when it’s over we’ll be facing February, and as we all know:
Thirty days hath September,
April, June, and November,
All the rest have thirty-one,
Save January,
Which has at least seventy
And February
Which has twenty-eight,
Unless it’s being a jerk like this year
And adds one more
I’d driven on this trip, and the way back to my friend’s required crossing an impossible road that has between four and six lanes, depending on which hundred-foot section you’re in. It’s a high-speed road merging into thick downtown traffic and a narrow bridge, as well as an on-ramp to the major highways heading both north and south of Boston, and is one of only two ways into Charlestown where we were headed. We were coming in from the right, Charlestown required turning left in about seventy-five yards, with people coming up behind us at speed wanting to go left, right, or straight from every lane they weren’t yet in.
In other words, Boston.
Neither my friend nor I were phased.
“Just…” she waved her hand left and mumbled.
“Yup,” I said, “I’ll just do the old lady wave.”
She nodded.
Driving in from lane six, I wedged myself between two cars at an angle, now with my rear end in lane four, my front in lane three, edging into lane two as I headed for lane one.
The thirty-something guy pulling up at speed to lane two slowed and stopped to let me in. I waved thanks for the favor he hadn't actually granted me. I saw him shake his head.
“Since I stopped dying my hair brown I get away with this shit all the time.”
She nodded again, her grey hair bobbing along with her.
Driving While Grey is the perquisite of age they don’t tell us about. When we’re younger, we look upon the old folks driving with disdain and condescending impatience, face-palming at their ridiculous maneuvers and outrageous ignoring of the laws of public safety and, sometimes, averages.
Did he just drive across the median to change directions?
OMG she just pulled into that parking spot the guy had been waiting for for ten minutes.
Jesus H Christ that old couple is taking twenty minutes to merge onto the super-highway—look at everyone going around them! How have they not been killed?
Little did we know those fogeys were playing us all along. They knew damn well what they were doing. They knew the cop wasn’t going to ticket some addled grandparent-type who was “lost.” They knew nobody was going to punch out a little old lady with a limp who took their spot.
They pulled into traffic because they knew we’d avoid hitting them. And if we failed, they probably had better insurance than we did.
My father was once pulled over for running a stop sign. He was in his seventies at the time. He parked, handed the cop his license and registration, gathered his things and started walking across the street.
“Where are you going?” asked the cop.
“I figure you’ll be a while so I’m going into the bank to make a deposit,” said my father.
When he returned the cop asked him sarcastically, “Did you get your errands done?”
“Not quite,” said dad, “But I didn’t want to slow you down if you had other people to ticket.”
I have good news for those of you who, like me, have attained a certain age bracket.
We have arrived.
Merge as slowly or quickly as you’d like. Park where you will. One-way streets are for suckers.
The key is to smile, nod your head, and wave your thanks. If it’s warm out and the windows are down, call them “dear” as you cut them off.
The worst that can happen is you’ll get pulled over for DWG. You’ll probably be let go with a warning.
Don’t forget to tell the cop he reminds you of your grandson.
Morning Teaistisms
Of the things I don’t need right now, caffeine ranks up there with taxes and additional familial responsibilities.
I still need my morning coffee to prevent headaches and prime the pump, so to speak, and I’ll have one or two other regular teas, English or Irish breakfast just to keep my brain from being lonely, but these days they might be decaf versions.
I’m a woman on the edge, dealing with bureaucratic incompetence, too many balls in the air, and the tsunami of tax season for myself and others I’m responsible for keeping me up at night, when the puppy isn’t doing that anyway.
Enter herbal teas.
Today’s is Elderberry Fruit & Herb. They don’t say what herb, but I can’t really tell it’s there so it’s “friendly herb.”
It washes down the heartburn pills nicely. It really is time to decide the beagle has “thunder storm phobia” again. Those pills were way better at staving off stress.
For the dog of course.
I love your strategy about looking at all appliances while disregarding the price, the cough being the determining factor. That could be applied to a lot of purchases. Very handy.
Great anecdote about your father doing errands while the police pondered the ticket. Very smart of him!
The DWG and all its tactics cracked me up. I drive in California where I don't have to dye my hair gray because people are easy-going and considerate. And, suprisingly, drivers in the last place I sat behind the wheel, Texas, we're REALLY nice. Must have been because we didn't have any political bumper stickers on the car that showed our true colors.
Great post AGAIN. Thank you for the good laugh.
Oh…ohhhh… I have embraced the grey but haven’t elevated it to DWG yet. Thanks for the tip!
I am on my way though, I park with reckless abandon. I’m barely able to see those white lines anymore. I see now I haven’t achieved full mastery of my grey; I will get on it!