I answered the phone. It was my daughter, saying her dryer was broken and she had ten gazillion loads of laundry to do!
She started to explain how the dryer did or didn’t do this or that, and I stopped her…
“Look, don’t talk about it too much, because if you do, mine will break too. It’s kind of the same thing that happens when you and I cover our eyes and ears if someone talks about, or has, an F.B.”
Now, and F. B. is that little sore that gets on your lip, stays for days, and hurts like heck, 
causing you to not be able to drink hot coffee, laugh out loud, or kiss the grandchildren.
We don’t even use the whole word. We found out a long time ago that saying it causes it.
Thus, my remark about the broken dryer.
Now, our dryer is only about a year old. In Maytag years, it’s only a child, but….mine is not a Maytag.
My daughter arrived, dragging and unloading load and loads of laundry. Bless her heart, she started a load in our washer, put a load into the dryer…and…….
OUR DRYER STOPPED WORKING…I TOLD her not to talk about it……!!!!!!!
It was the family curse, coming around again!!!
Simply put, you can’t talk about something horrible when you are around me, because it will happen to me, for real.
Panicked, I called the repairman.
Now, he is a wonderful guy, cute as a speckled puppy, and as sweet as honeysuckle, but he was fishing on Wheeler Lake, which I had to accept, no matter how many wet clothes were in my laundry room!
“I don’t like this…” I said to that sweet man. “and, you better catch some fish and bring them to me, filleted.”
He chuckled and said he would see me the next morning.
“No, we can’t do tomorrow morning…” I explained, patiently. “I have a huge, important dental appointment tomorrow morning, and I will be home around noon.”
“Okay..” He said, as he was apparently throwing out a line with a piece of liver on the hook. “Call me when you get home and I will come in the afternoon to fix your dryer. It sounds like something simple.”
I was relieved to know that I would have a way to dry laundry the next evening.
Next morning, Early, too early, I was just out of the shower, drying my hair and listening to the television, when the dogs barked.
“Shut up!” I screamed. Dr. Phil was dealing with an anorexic girl, who I, apparently, will never be able to relate to.
After I got my hair dry, I checked the time. It was eight o’clock and my appointment was at nine. I had time to match my little scarf to my little shirt.
I had on my house coat and was digging through a drawer of scarves when the front door burst open…I mean, burst open.. as if I were starring in an episode of Cops. I could almost hear “Bad Boys” playing their theme song.
Tony leapt, as well as he can leap, through the door. The little repairman was peering around him, with a wary look on his face.. Tony’s eyes were as big as saucers.
“WHATS WRONG??” We both screamed at the same time.
I was so shocked and scared, I went into a sheer tizz! Surely someone was dead, dying, or planning to. Surely, someone had been carried to jail or the hospital, or to the gallows. Surely, someone had at least broken a nail, got a really bad haircut, or finally reported me to the Health Department because I haven’t mopped the floors in over a week.
“Sweetheart…are you okay? He called me when you didn’t answer the door…”
“Why? What’s happened…Oh My God?” I ran to him, and screamed. I was in a state of total, out-and-out, confusion……
“He couldn’t get you to answer the door, your car is in the garage, and the dogs were barking!!” Tony yelled, attempting to explain the cop-inspired entering of the front door.
I tightened the belt of my robe, which was coming undone. I shook the scarf I had taken
from the drawer and said, “HE SAID FOR ME TO CALL WHEN I GOT OUT OF THE DENTIST’S OFFICE!!!!!!!!!!!!”
We discussed the guy as if he was not standing right there, becoming more terrified all the time.
The poor repairman, bless his heart. He can’t weight eighty pounds, soaking wet, so I felt bad for him, standing there, trembling, hiding behind my husband, holding his little tool bag.
I couldn’t pick him up and shake him, either, because it could end up like Shaken Baby Syndrome, and I could go to Julia Tutwiler Prison for Women.
“Baby, calm down..” Tony said.
“Calm down, my butt!! You two scared the living hell out of me. I thought someone was dead or dying or in jail or being forced to listen to Kenny G’s music!!!” I yelled in my best “like my Momma” voice…
“Come on in..” I said to the frightened little repairman. “But, I have got to leave.. I am late.”
I grumbled, out loud, all the way back to the bedroom, picked up the jeans I had just taken off, and started to put them on. To heck with matching clothing, by this time, I was way too nervous to worry about how I looked.
He trembled his way to my dryer. He took off the old knob and slipped on a new one, and the dryer worked.
He whispered, in a VERY meek voice, “Do you want to pay now or be billed?”
“I DON’T CARE!” I yelled from the bedroom, with one leg in my jeans. “Talk to Tony…I gotta go!”
Now, I know this may not be funny or even informative, but it’s a note to say to all repairmen who show up early…..
If you get screamed at by a half-dressed, maniacal woman wearing two different shoes, and carrying something in her hand, you just have to take your chances…
Please follow the plan and don’t cause havoc at Wit’s End. We have enough confusion here already!
If he would have come in the afternoon, I could have offered him some coffee and maybe a ham sandwich.
The dogs may have licked him, and we could all have been calm and nice. I might have even asked if he had a good fishing trip..
But I do thank him for fixing the dryer so fast. I am sorry he trembled in fear.
Now, I think I will call my daughter and tell her to come back with her laundry.
And, order her to only discuss good things.
