Last weekend Sylvia told me that our refridgerator was making more noise than it should. I remain oblivious to any difference in freezer volume, but I trust her judgement, so at some point in the near future I'll investigate the process of finding a repairman.
But to make the task more entertaining, I proposed to Sylvia that we fill the fridge with dynamite, so that when the repairman shows up to inspect the appliance, he'll open the door and find a fridge full of dynamite. Then he'll say,
"I think I've found the problem. Your fridge is full of dynamite."
And I'll say, "Is that not an appropriate place to store dynamite?"
"How about the washing machine?"
Anyway, I asked dad about the plan on the weekend and he told me that you have to have a licence to purchase dynamite. Like I'm going to do anything dangerous with it! :-( Guess I should have voted for the Conservative Reform Alliance Party after all. They're social Darwinist types, I'll bet they would have repealed this dynamite licence thing if they'd gotten enough seats for a majority.