When my ex-wife and I married in 1976, a woman named Joan Something-or-other gave us a yogurt maker. I always thought you had to receive a dispensation from the highest courts in Christendom to possess a yogurt maker as it were a hydrogen bomb. Joan S-O-O pulled some strings in courts of Christendom so it was cool.
We needed nor wanted a yogurt maker and we never used it. If the thought of slurping down a half-gallon of homemade yogurt sounded heavenly, we never broke the seal of the machine. Many times we decided to throw the stupid thing out, but we became so attatched to the machine. It was so cute: two-tone green and beige body, sweet lovely blue toggle switches for eyes labeled “On” and Off”, and its little rubber feet. Who could be so heartless to pitch something so sad and helpless into the eternal dump?
So we re-gifted it. I think we gave it to my brother and sister-in-law at their wedding. Thus began 34 years of re-gifting. It went through my family, her family, our church, the city of Akron, Ohio, where we lived at the time, and the National Tour of Oliver!. We counted over 169 weddings where the yogurt maker was re-gifted. Finally it came back to me when Carol and I were married.
I hereby wish to honor you with this splendid gift. Take it, love it, teach it: let it know you care. What greater love is there than the love between a person and his yogurt maker? Be careful that you don’t actually use the machine to make yogurt. You leave a tell-tale dollop of yogurt, you’ll get busted.
Bets wishes to both of you