I replaced my hair dryer a few weeks ago. Correction: Chip replaced it after seeing that the circuit was exposed. I told him I was sure we could duct tape it, but he countered that for $15, it wasn't worth electrocuting myself. Or our daughter.*
Since the replacement hair dryer came to town, Mary Clare has been obsessed with what happened to its predecessor. Clearly, the fate of the old hair dryer is weighing on her, because it gets brought up almost every time I dry her hair. Last night's conversation was particularly entertaining.
MC: Mama, where is the other dryer?
Me: It broke, remember? So we got a new one.
MC: But what happened to it?
Me: Well, daddy and I couldn't fix it, so we threw it in the trash.
MC: But maybe you need to use a scroover.
Me: A what?
MC: A scroover.
Me: I'm sorry, honey, a what?
MC: A SCROOVER.
Me: Oh, a screwdriver.
MC: Yeah. And then you need to put the hammer on it.
Of course, I knew my dad would eat this up, so I suggested we call Papa Thole to verify that our plan was correct. He was only too happy to tell Mary Clare that yes, a scroover and a hammer were exactly what mommy and daddy should have used to fix the hair dryer. If only we had listened.
*I'm pretty sure Chip was mostly concerned about our daughter. We don't carry that much life insurance on me. That I know of, at least.