There's More Similarity Between a Wafflemaker and Dating Than You'd Think

Well, that was an intriguing title. I realized yesterday, as I was plugging in my new wafflemaker and wondering how it would work, that there are a lot of similarities between appliances and dating someone new. A stretch? you may ask. Well, let's see.

Both look good on the outside. A lot of marketing goes into the packaging. They both have a vested interest in convincing you to take the bait.

With both of them, you're never really sure what's going to happen the first time you turn them on. My wafflemaker instructions said to expect some smoke and a funny smell the first time.

Whatever instructions you received will be missing something vital to the proper operation of this particular model - whether a guy or a wafflemaker. My spanking-brand-new appliance said it would beep 6 times when preheated and would beep 3 times when a waffle was done, neither of which happened. I guess that's kind of like, "I'll call you later." Something does not operate as expected and there are no apologies and no explanations. You just have to figure it out yourself and deal with the consequences.

If the first operation goes well, you feel slightly more sure that this new venture will not blow up in your face. You just might make more waffles. You just might go out with ol' what's-his-face again. He wasn't a chainsaw killer, at least on first sight, so hey, dinner and a movie might be fun. I didn't burn the waffles and none of us were poisoned, so hey, I might do this again, if I can figure out how to clean the thing. (Hey, that's like a guy, too, come to think about it...)

If continued operation proves successful, you might dare, at some point, to use it without consulting the instructions or a recipe. You wild, impulsive thing, you! Go crazy. Make waffles and feel free as a bird. And when you do, and things still work out they way they should, you know that you are officially in a working relationship with a small kitchen appliance. It's a beautiful thing. Just brings tears to my eyes.

As it turns out, my wafflemaker did poorly and took a nosedive in the Mayo rating system almost immediately. It took about 10 minutes to make one waffle, which, according to my precise, scientific calculations, makes dinner so not worth it. I do not wish to stand in front of a wafflemaker for 40 minutes while my family chows down. I can make, like, 80 pancakes in 40 minutes. Why ask why? Anyway, it made one waffle. By the way, it never beeped after preheating and it never beeped when Waffle #1 was done. I just got tired of waiting and flipped the thing over to check on it. It was done enough for 4 starving people to split so I took it out and poured the batter for another one. And I waited. And waited. And waited some more. I checked it (against the rules, according to the directions; it offsets the timing) and saw that it was a very undone, gooey mess. So I announced that we would divy up Waffle #1 and eat dinner while #2 cooked. I gave #2 about 25 more minutes and was not happy to see that not only was the wafflemaker cooling off inexplicably, but #2 was as gooey and uncooked as ever. Luckily, I'd made some other things to go with dinner, because 1/4 of Waffle #1 was about 5 bites. Have you ever tried explaining to your husband how you paid $79 for a wafflemaker that made exactly one waffle before breaking? Have you ever seen the looks on your kids' faces when you explained that gee, this was fun, eat up because IT'S ALL YOU'RE GETTING? Talk about dashed hopes...disillusionment...unmet expectations...and again, it's like dating!!! Only I still have my receipt. HA! Can you just see it? "Hi, [insert guy's name]'s Mom? Yes, I just recently went out with your son and I'm sorry to say, he's broken! Yes, he doesn't work at all! And frankly, I'd like my time and money back, please. Or, if you have another model that works, I'd be happy to try him. Thank you!" And you walk away, muttering to yourself, "Taiwanese piece of crap..."

I recently got a new washer and dryer. They're the front loader models. They're kind of fancy, as compared to my old system of slap-clothes-against-rock-and-hang-to-dry, but they do work. There's buttons and knobs and little electronic displays. It was all a little intimidating at first. Kind of like dating a senator's son or something. You fret some about the ostentatiousness of it all. Is it too much? I mean, everyone's looking at me. I don't know if I'll fit in. Does this fabric softener make my butt look big? And so on. They even sing to me to let me know a cycle's done. The first time the washer sang to me, the kids, the cat, and I all looked up at each other: "What was that?" The musical ditty sounds a lot like a song from the Winnie-the-Pooh Heffalump movie. In fact, I thought that's what it was at first. On subsequent loads I got closer to the source of the sound until I figured it out. Well, dang! Ma, Pa, come lookey-here! This warsher SANG to me! (And the senator's son hesitates a step, smiles uncertainly, but mans up and takes it for the compliment it probably is.) As I spent more time with my new beau - I mean laundry appliances - I came to accept and then expect the charm of the musical cycles. As fancy as laundry had become, it worked, and it worked well, consistently. And after all, isn't that what true love's all about?