| Hairdryers so big they came in their own suitcase. I think mine was a Miss Clairol. Fond memories of Saturday nights in my pink, spongy curlers over which I donned a shower-cap-on-steriods, prompting merciless teasing by my older brother. If I plugged in the behemoth anywhere other than the living room, I blew a fuse.
Fuses. That's another one my kids ask about. I still say, "We blew a fuse," when I really mean we tripped a circuit. |