Back in the day, when I used to save money all year long so that I could ship myself off to camp for a couple weeks during the summer, I loved me some archery.
Except, I wasn't all that good at it.
Especially when I took the time to aim.
Ehh. It happens.
Then, a couple of years ago, I tried to take up golf. My golf game is much like my archery game, except I was much more fashionably dressed for my one and only official tee time.
And all of this has to do with my new dryer. I promise.
I've always admired those people who could strategically charm their way into deals and discounts, but I just never could master the art.
Until Sunday. When my dryer broke. Right at the exact moment that I had finally psyched myself up to wash all twenty-five loads that had begun crowding me out of my bedroom.
Not really, I only had two to do. But still.
So I was a damsel in distress, but I wasn't acting, when I sulked into my local appliance supplier and then sulked some more when I realized that a new gas dryer costs just about twice the amount as the new tires I've been praying to save up for before December. Sigh.
I'm not sure if it was the sulking sob story, the compassion-filled eulogy of my trusty old convenience, or the animated manner in which I attempted to cope with this last straw that had been added to the camel's back, but the salesman magically adjusted the price of my new dryer to roughly the equivalent of new tires.
Apparently, my charm works quite a bit like the astute way I'm able to maneuver a bow and arrow or golf club.
Which is great, because air-drying my underwear and socks is just weird.