I have to type this column fast because, you see, I haven’t got
much time.
I have to type this column fast because, you see, I haven’t got much time. Now, normally, I can take as long as I like, leisurely typing a few words here and there, in-between wandering around the house and gazing into the refrigerator. I can mull over my every word before I set it down on paper. But not today. Nuh-uh. You see, last week my husband finished filing our tax return and, in the heat of the moment, turned to me and said loudly,
“Honey, I think we might be getting a refund this year.”
“Shhhh!” I hissed. “Don’t you remember what happened the last time you said something like that?” I quickly clamped my hand over his mouth before the house could hear. I hoped maybe, just maybe, it had been preoccupied with things like settling and forming new cracks.
But, sure enough, the next day when I came home, the garage door opener wouldn’t work. No matter how hard I pushed the button the door remained shut as if saying to me, “Just try to get into your house, Lady. I dare you.” So I did what any other intelligent, educated person would do in my situation: I repeatedly hit the remote control against the side of the steering wheel.
Eventually my husband came home, and we pried the door open, but I’ve been around long enough to know what this means. It won’t be long before the other appliances catch on about the extra money being spent on the garage door, and I’ll be spending my days shopping for new bolts and wires and calling repairmen.
And if you don’t believe me, just ask my neighbor Julie. Once her husband had briefly mentioned a Christmas bonus over dinner and, sure enough, the next day her dishwasher wouldn’t start. And just as soon as they had that fixed, the upstairs plumbing started leaking, and the furnace gave out.
My friend Tina made the mistake of announcing that she was going to put part of her new pay raise away for a cruise. Then the next thing she knew her washing machine was overflowing and seeping into the living room underneath her new carpet.
Meanwhile, my friend Jenny is careful to never mention extra money out loud, and she’s lived in the same house for 10 years without so much as replacing the heat filter.
So even though I was careful not to mention anything about the new garage door opener within earshot of the rest of the house, I wasn’t too surprised when the heat mechanism in my dryer went out the next day. Or when the vacuum cleaner belt broke.
But when I went to pick up my daughter from school and the car wouldn’t start, that was the last straw.
When my husband came home, I grabbed him by the collar. “Tell the house that you were only kidding about the tax r-e-f-u-n-d,” I begged.
“What?” He eyed me suspiciously. “Have you been varnishing the wood furniture again?”
“Just do it! Quick!” I let out a crazy little laugh.
So far, it’s been two hours since anything has broken, refused to move or made funny noises. Oh, I realize that our appliances probably don’t really know when we have extra money, and it’s only just a coincidence that they’re breaking down at once. But I’m not taking any chances.
I’m typing this column as fast as I can – just in case my computer catches on.
Debbie Farmer’s column appears every Monday.
