When my ex-wife and I married in 1976, Joanie What’s-Her-Name gave us a yogurt maker as a wedding gift. Back then, yogurt makers were considered exceptional, You needed a note from God to even dream of owning a yogurt maker and you had to keep it covered up and locked away. You can’t leave a yogurt maker lying around the kitchen like it’s a juicer.
We never asked for such a wondrous gift. Even If the thought of slurping down homemade yogurt seemed so sexy, we were too frightened to open the box with its pretty pictures of the machine and the angelic housewife with her delightful children. And the instructions seemed so involved. You got to be careful or instead of yogurt, you might wind up with a batch of penicillin.
One day we did release Yogu (we just had to name her) from her cardboard doghouse. We set her up, put all the creamy stinky crap inside the cups, plugged her in and flipped a switch. Yogu shook her sweet little face and threw globs of yucky slop around the room. She was so cute: two-tone green and beige body, blue toggle switches for eyes labeled “On” and Off”, and nimble rubber feet. But, like most incredible treasures, the she just didn’t work
So we re-gifted it. We handed it off to my brother and sister-in-law as a wedding present, It was okay, since we knew they would never actually use it. Thus began 34 years of re-gifting. It passed throughout my family, my wife’s family, our church, the city of Akron, and the National Tour of the musical OLIVER! We figure Yogu was re-gifted 169 times. Then, as fate would have it, Jimmy Whose-It gave her to Carol and I when were married in April 2009. So, we like to honor you and Debbie with this miracle gift. Take her, love her, smother her with a pillow, but don’t actually keep her and try to make yogurt with her. You’ll break the chain and a grand piano will fall on you.
Best wishes for a happy life!