Wednesday, October 20, 2010
I’ve not had such good fortune in the past. My first breadmaker, for example. In our last house, the inside corner of the countertop had a bad buckle. Stupid me didn’t realize you could reject that kind of sloppy work in a new house; we lived with it until just before we moved out 20 years later, when we replaced it in a desperate frenzy to make the house attractive in a terrible market. Anyway, I was in the habit of setting the breadmaker to do its thing overnight, and one night I must have set it too close to the bump in the counter. The breadmaker (I’m assuming, since I didn’t actually witness this part) “walked” itself to the edge of the counter and jumped off. Breadmaker suicide. I’d always thought it was happy.
My husband, whose fixit skills are mostly limited to duct taping, shooting with WD-40, or smacking with a hammer, duct-taped the lid back together. Suddenly the electrical connections lit up again. Instant redneck breadmaker. Whenever I remind him of that, he reminds me of the house I grew up in. The hot water handle in the basement shower broke off, and Dad replaced it with a vise grip. Thirty years later when the vise grip rusted, Dad replaced it—with another vise grip. One year I gave my dad one of those 365 days of duct tape calendars, which gave a new use on each day’s sheet. He called me, triumphant: “I discovered use number 366! The calendar fell apart and I duct-taped it back together!”
Any redneck solutions in your life?