My throat is still spackled closed with a thick layer of mucus, and subsequently I sound like a seventy-year-old blues singer with emphysema. Unfortunately, I managed to contaminate my girl, and now she gives me Kim Carnes impersonations whenever we stop wheezing long enough to talk.

We have been reduced to communication via Yahoo. Not exactly unfamiliar territory for us as you can guess. So she pings me tonight to inform me that her new washing machine has a “sport” cycle. Sport. Cycle. I never knew major appliances could be so athletic. I can’t wait till she gets her new X-Treme dryer. With downloadable ring tones.

Her dryer shows up tomorrow. Along with a second washing machine. Overwhelmed with irrational exuberance in the appliance section at Sears and the thought of a wardrobe permanently springtime fresh, she managed to purchase both a washer AND a dryer that won’t work in her home for two totally different reasons. The dryer runs on gas. She has electric. The washer runs on 110. Her connection is 220.

I found this both terribly funny and wonderfully endearing (I'm pretty sure the delivery guys did not). I’m so proud of her. My girl is totally blog worthy.

Author's Note: In her defense, as her condo has a gas furnace and her she was informed incorrectly that she had gas connections, she never felt the compelled to check. The outlet, well, seriously, it's not like a washing machine is a super computer. Even I wouldn't have thought of that.