by Whitney
Once upon a days, there was a sad sparse dishwasher. For the profit of the assertion, we’ll call him Stu.
Stu was 8 years old. Try as he might, he fair couldn’t do what he was theoretical to do. Day after day, his household put prurient dishes into his racks and one very noisy hour later, they still came out sullied.
His relatives was frustrated with his inefficiencies. And Stu was frustrated that he proper couldn’t get the job done, as any formerly virile appliance would be.
Stu oft-times got stopped up (as old folks often do) and he’d often bring on his kith and kin’s disposal to back up.
His kindred was downhearted, and Stu was sad because he was so very irked. He longed to take off to a retirement community where he could seek group collateral, look at NCIS re-runs and garb Isotoner slippers every day.
For many years, this sad falsehood continued: Stu not getting the job done, bedraggled dishes, cheerless people.
Then one day, something magical happened. The Frigidaire Fairies showed up. (Their names were Ed and Curtis.) They brought something glossy. And unbelievably. When it twirled, it sparkled.
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