Have You Seen Mary's Appliances?

Ring!  Ring!
“Good mor – Good afternoon, Acme Grommets and Gravel. Pearl speaking.”
“I’m like a rich person over here,” Mary says.
“You buyin’ the name-brand tuna again?”
She chuckles indulgently.  “Oh, Pearl, Pearl, Pearl.  So droll.”  There is the sound of her opening then closing the lid of a large appliance.
“Do you hear that?” she says.  “That, my friend, is the sound of a washer machine.  And this – “ the lid of another large appliance is opened and then closed.  “ – is the sound of the dryer.”
A smile leaves her lips, bounces off a satellite, and hits me in the ear.  “Like I said,” she grins, “I’m like a rich person over here.”
“No more running to the laundromat,” I say. “It’s the end of an era.”
“It’s the end of a backache, more like,” she says.
“Would you like to describe them to me?  Because I would like to hear them described.”
“Well,” she chuckles, “they’re white.  And one of them washes, and the other dries.  Hmmm.”  She pauses.  “That’s it, I think.”
“That’s all you need.”
There is silence as we each nod.  We know we are nodding.
“Mary,” I say.
“Hmmm?”  She’s staring at her new washer and dryer.  I just know it.
“You’re staring at it, aren’t you?  Lovingly.”
“Am not.”
“Mary,” I say, reproachingly.  “We got a thing that’s called Radar Love.”
“What?” she says, laughing.  “What’s this now?”
I laugh, refuse to answer.
“Pearl,” she says.  “Pearl!”
“What?”
“I bin driving all night, my hands wet on the wheel…”
“We mock what we don’t understand,” I say, in a mock-hurt voice.  “Scoff at my love for you, but I know that you are standing in front of your washer and dryer, running your tiny little freckled hands over their lids, aren’t you?”
A smile is muffled.  “No, I’m not.”
“And you just stopped.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“I’ll let you get back to that.”
“Weirdo.”
“Appliance-based pervert.”
Click.