My washing machine died last week. It was nicknamed El Diablo, for its ability to shake, rattle and roll; in fact, I used to schedule my phone calls around the spin cycle - it was that noisy. The repairman took one look at it and said the cost of fixing it was about four times the machine's value, and wondered aloud how it had continued to work for as long as it did. Okay, it was 12 years old and its previous owners were a family of six, so I guess you could say that El Diablo lived a good life.

So I went to an appliance shop that I trust, and the owner told me that a certain German-made machine was the best value. I cut him off as he extolled the machine's many functions with a brusque "Great, I'll take it." It washes, it spins, it holds 5 kilos, it's not expensive, it has a five year warranty - what else do I need to know?

When I told Karen that I'd bought a new washing machine, and that it was from Germany, she said that she wished she and Ezi had bought a German-made oven instead of the French one they chose for their newly (and gorgeously) renovated kitchen. The French oven, she said, looks great but doesn't work very well. Yeah, I said, their food isn't very good but the Germans really know how to make good ovens.*

Then we both heard what I'd said, and we started to laugh.



*Germans, ovens, Jews - get it?