I Scream, You Scream, We All Scream For Dehumidifiers

Remember when I asked for a dehumidifier for Mother's Day? And I didn't get one?

Saturday, I reminded Farmer H that we really need a new dehumidifier. He got all woman, you don't know a dehumidifier from a three-dollar change purse on me, and pointed out that our home humidity was perfectly normal at 65%. Any fool besides me knows that the air conditioner already dehumidifies the house. (Never mind that twice a year a Lake Subterranean Mansion rears its ugly depths, due to a hose needing unclogging by one Farmer H.) And if I had only bothered to check that box on the wall, I would know that.

To translate for you, that box on the wall is a flat wooden dealybobber that Farmer H bought at an auction, with three dials: temperature, barometric pressure, and humidity. The humidity dial had 50% designated as normal, but that wouldn't sway Farmer H. You'd think he was growing orchids. Or that we were part of a clandestine, paid, Family in a Terrarium experiment.

My platform that every time I take a bowl of Ruffles chips to my office, they last about 5 minutes before succumbing to the soggy clutches of the indoor ground fog did not sway him in the least. I am surprised he did not go all woman, you don't need to eat chips anyway, how about you get to tendin' my orchids on me.

So I had to pitch a small fit and remind him that I had only been reminding him for nigh on four weeks that we need a new dehumidifier. That I had looked for one myself, but The Devil had cleverly hidden them in the far reaches of his Playground, and after traipsing from one end to the other, I was not about to go corner to corner.

With that, Farmer H jumped up and declared that he was taking himself on a winery tour. Not exactly a bon mot in my book, but a fitting exit line for himself, I suppose. Though I don't know why one would take a winery tour by oneself, or how one would avoid driving oneself drunkenly after sampling the wares. However, I suppose the humidity level of a wine cellar might make one feel right at home if one lived in an atmosphere of 65% humidity. Let us not dissect the timing of this exchange, the popular winery-touring hour of 9:00 a.m.

Later that afternoon, Farmer H returned to the Mansion with a $178 dehumidifier. He deposited it, still in the box, wrapped with those annoying plastic strips, next to the non-dehumidifying dehumidifier. Where it still sits. Because apparently, that's all it takes to dehumidify a Mansion.

I suppose the box IS soaking up moisture as I type.