My dryer broke yesterday—out of nowhere. I plopped two wet tablecloths and loads of sodden dishtowels into its pockmarked basin, clicked the knob to extra dry, pushed the button, and… nothing.
I checked the plug, the outlet, the robot looking tube snaking out its back, clicked the circuit breaker back and forth, did it again, and… nothing.
The house became my clothesline, my banisters and kitchen chairs draped with checks and stripes and quilted cloth when my friend arrived for a visit and proclaimed it all so charming.
“Oh,” I said, “My dryer broke.”
“You know,” she said, “I think that dryers are optional.”