I was over in the cursed wasteland of suburbia last Saturday, "helping" a friend shop for a washer and dryer for her new house.
Shopping for a washer and dryer went like this:
Me: Oooh, look at the red one. And this color is called chai! I like this one.
Friend: What should we be looking at?
M: I don't know, cubic feet or something?
F: This washer is 4.5 cubic feet, and the dryer is 7.5 cubic feet. And it's really energy and water efficient. Wait, why is the dryer so much bigger than the washer?
M: I think the clothes in the dryer need space to fall around. That's a technical term, fall around.
[The parties drift toward another row of appliances.]
M: This one is only 6.7 cubic feet. Do you need such a big one?
F: Not right now, but what if I adopt kids from Ethiopia? Then I'll need a big one.
M: True.
[Salesperson approaches.]
Salesperson: Can I help you with anything?
F: No, we're just looking.
[Salesperson leaves.]
M&F, virtually simultaneously: This is boring. Let's go get coffee.
M: I really am a feminist, but seriously, this is why men exist: so you can send them shopping for things like appliances. I just can't bring myself to care that much about dryer capacity.
[The parties exit Se@rs and locate the nearest St@rbucks.]
At some point in the day, I realized that we might far enough out of my normal range of travel that perhaps the Dutch store was nearby. (It's all just the far side of town, to me. The WRONG side of town. The boring side of town.) After prolific googling by the staff at the home repair store, where we bought nothing but did play with the paint color selector computer, we found the Dutch store, just around the corner, and I bought some aged real imported gouda for $17.99 a pound.
The whole point of this story is to tell you that I think I ate, tonight alone, 1/2 of the 0.6 pounds of gouda that I bought last Saturday. I feel deliciously sick. That cheese just has no equal.
Shopping for a washer and dryer went like this:
Me: Oooh, look at the red one. And this color is called chai! I like this one.
Friend: What should we be looking at?
M: I don't know, cubic feet or something?
F: This washer is 4.5 cubic feet, and the dryer is 7.5 cubic feet. And it's really energy and water efficient. Wait, why is the dryer so much bigger than the washer?
M: I think the clothes in the dryer need space to fall around. That's a technical term, fall around.
[The parties drift toward another row of appliances.]
M: This one is only 6.7 cubic feet. Do you need such a big one?
F: Not right now, but what if I adopt kids from Ethiopia? Then I'll need a big one.
M: True.
[Salesperson approaches.]
Salesperson: Can I help you with anything?
F: No, we're just looking.
[Salesperson leaves.]
M&F, virtually simultaneously: This is boring. Let's go get coffee.
M: I really am a feminist, but seriously, this is why men exist: so you can send them shopping for things like appliances. I just can't bring myself to care that much about dryer capacity.
[The parties exit Se@rs and locate the nearest St@rbucks.]
At some point in the day, I realized that we might far enough out of my normal range of travel that perhaps the Dutch store was nearby. (It's all just the far side of town, to me. The WRONG side of town. The boring side of town.) After prolific googling by the staff at the home repair store, where we bought nothing but did play with the paint color selector computer, we found the Dutch store, just around the corner, and I bought some aged real imported gouda for $17.99 a pound.
The whole point of this story is to tell you that I think I ate, tonight alone, 1/2 of the 0.6 pounds of gouda that I bought last Saturday. I feel deliciously sick. That cheese just has no equal.
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