Her bestselling novel came with a lint filter

Her profile said she was a bestselling author. As a guy whose most ambitious writing is “sounds good,” I was impressed. We met for coffee, and I asked what she wrote. “Domestic suspense,” she said, handing me a thick binder. The first chapter was called Before Operating Your Dryer. I thought she was doing a bit. She wasn't. She'd downloaded appliance manuals, changed the margins, and added her name. Apparently the suspense was whether people cleaned the lint filter. I gently asked about the bestselling part. She said millions of dryers had been sold and she wasn't going to apologize for reaching readers. Then she asked me to record a testimonial calling her work “unputdownable.” I said the binder was heavy, but that wasn't quite the same thing. She accused me of being threatened by a successful woman and packed up her literary career. Later she sent me chapter two. It was a dishwasher warranty. Finally, a relationship with clearly stated exclusions.