This story takes place at least 20 years ago when my then boyfriend, now husband, and I were newly dating. He was a bit older than I was back then…Ha! Still is…just wanted to see if you were paying attention.
Anyway, I was at the tail end of my college career and he was establishing himself in his real-life career. A friend of his was getting married and moving out of his apartment and was looking to get rid of his microwave.
Keep in mind, this was over 20 years ago. There were no cell phones, laptops, wiis, etc. Home computers were just starting to make their way into, well, into people’s homes. This was so long ago, in fact, that I typed, yes, on a typewriter, ALL of my college papers. (If you just asked what a typewriter is, then you’re too young to be reading this and I officially hate you.) Back then, people had a TV, a VCR, and a microwave, and if they were really living large they had an Atari “gaming system.” Oh, yes, it was that long ago.
Microwaves were a relatively new invention back then, and since I was a single gal living on my own (without a lot of money), I was more than happy to take his friend’s used one. My then boyfriend, now husband (I guess I’m going to have to give him a name eventually, but I better let him pick it) comes over and sets the microwave on the counter.
A few days later, I go to use the microwave, only it doesn’t work. Hmm, that’s strange, why would he give me a microwave that doesn’t even work? I don’t say anything to him because, after all, he was nice enough to give it to me and, quite frankly, I’m a little bit embarrassed for him that he has given me something that doesn’t even work. I mean, we’re newly dating, what am I going to say? “Thanks for the piece of crap, broken down, useless, second hand, junky microwave.” I don’t think so.
So I do what I do best in situations like this: I keep my mouth shut.
Time passes and he’s over at my apartment one day and he asks about the microwave.
Shoot! What do I say? I give him my most charming smile and say, "Well, um, er, you see, the thing is, well, it’s just that, um, the microwave doesn’t work."
And he says, “What do you mean it doesn’t work?”
And I say, “What do you mean what do I mean?” (Twenty years later and we still have lots of conversations like this.) “It doesn’t work,” I say again. “I push the button and nothing happens.”
“Hmm, that’s strange,” he says. (You’re telling me!) He’s a handy guy so he pokes around a bit, pushes the button, and voila, it works. Magic! Be still my beating heart…he is such a stud!
“Um, Jane,” he says. Now it’s his turn to er, um, well…”Jane, it wasn’t plugged in.”
Me: “You have to plug it in? But it’s a microwave.”
Him: “Yes, Jane, but you still have to plug it in. How else did you think it would work?”
Me: “Well, it’s microwave. Aren’t there, like, little micro waves in the air that make it work?”
I swear I’m not making this up…and I swear that every day I thank my lucky stars that he didn’t go running for the hills right then and there. I really and truly thought microwaves worked on micro waves!
Now, dear reader, if I may take a teeny, tiny moment to defend myself. I know what you’re thinking: Put the shovel down now, Jane, and step away from that very large hole you have just dug for yourself.
But in my meager defense, very few people had microwaves back then, and the one we had at my dad’s house was built in, thus no cords, no plugs, no nothing. How was I supposed to know that a microwave had to be plugged in? Seriously people, I can’t be expected to know every darn thing now, can I?
So there you have it. My Most Moronic Moment of All Time…Ever! If you dare, I invite you to share yours.