Drier

The TOFheim, dryer which for fourteen years had done its duty vis a vis wet laundry, gave up the ghost and joined the choir eternal. The several repairmen who had tinkered with it for a month agreed to refund most of the moneys paid; and so this past Saturday TOF and the Incomparable Marge visited a store of appliances and examined the possible replacements.  Sample conversation:

I/M: We'll take this one.
TOF: OK.

The manager of the store (who was also the owner, it being a small family-owned establishment) told us he could have it delivered next (now this) week. "Wednesday isn't looking good, so it'll probably be Thursday."
On the way to the register, the fellow remarked, "You've been in here before."
Yes, three years ago, to buy a new stove after the old one was struck by a meteor -- i.e., a hot casserole dish being pulled from the overhead microwave without adequate temperature buffers. Sample monologue:

Son of TOF: Ouch. Oops. Damn.

Name?
"Flynn," says the Incomparable.
"Flynns!" says the owner. "I can get it to you Monday afternoon. At 1:00. Plus-or-minus 15 minutes."

TOF is not making this up. Life is good, and the clothes are dry.