It is possible an accidental slight perceived by my Easy Bake Oven back in 1972 left me permanently banished to the Island of Misfit Appliances.
If so, I would like to apologize formally on behalf of myself and, more likely, my older brother, because I have not spent a single day of my adult life with all of my household appliances intact.
Yesterday Molly and I killed time watching Netflix while a repairman worked on our stove. Darkness fell. Eventually he returned to our family room with a stricken expression.
“Ma’am, can you step in here?” he asked, apparently feeling that whatever he was about to tell me would be too shocking for the tender sensibilities of a high school freshman.
Safely out of her earshot he said, “Ma’am, I broke your stove.”
A lengthy explanation of electrical circuits and coils followed but I barely listened as I pondered yet again the irony of a repairman breaking my appliance.
I give you the furnace repairman who jostled loose a pipe in our basement that required the services of a plumber who had to order parts, leaving us with neither pipe nor furnace in working order.
We live in a house with a programmable thermostat that has been stuck at 64 since the power surge of 2006.
An electrician helpfully rewired our outlets last year and now our electric tea kettle short circuits our Christmas lights.
Friendly folks live here on the Island of Misfit Appliances that’s full of universal remotes that have to be jiggled just so, and garage door openers that lift only one door, and brand new dishwashers that leak.
You can visit us any time.
But don’t use the doorbell on the street side door. It hasn’t worked since a repairman fixed our porch light in 1998.