Two thoughts are silently screaming in me right now:
FOUR-LETTER WORD! FOUR LETTER WORD! FOUR-LETTER WORD! (And trust me, I’m being much more creative that the previous three sentences would have you believe.)
and: Eat your heart out Bobby Flay.
It’s not like I wasn’t warned.
The lawn mower, then the coffee maker. The other appliances are more than a little jealous.
And tonight, one of them had a hissy.
Shame on me for accepting the boss’ invitation to punch out a little early. Shame on me for thinking relaxation might be in my future.
Dinner had bubbled all day in the slow cooker (Korean tacos), so that wasn’t an issue. But we’re planning to surprise my parents with an unscheduled visit tomorrow and Catherine was baking donuts to bring them using a mix and pan my sister-in-law sent a few weeks back.
Catherine was busy mixing and stirring. I made a quick trip to CVS, and as I returned dragging the toilet paper, razors, Chapstick and rubbing alcohol into the house, I was hit with a strange chemical smell, and news that the oven hadn’t budged above 260 degrees in an hour of trying.
FOUR-LETTER WORD! FOUR LETTER WORD! FOUR-LETTER WORD!
It’s as though Murphy himself was lying in wait — just biding his time until the new mower and caffeine-delivery system were in service, the paint was dry in Catherine’s room, the long-delayed new carpets were laid in her room and the den, and the first payment was made on the new sofa.
There was nothing to do but turn off the oven and fire up the grill.
I was feeling pretty smug about that tack, but although the first batch baked up beautifully under our watchful eyes, it is now in pieces on the kitchen table. Those suckers clung a little too strongly to their nonstick pan.
Mom and Dad may be getting donut crumble. It’s hard to tell.
Catherine is preparing a fresh pan now with the rest of the batter, but it’s safe to say the fun has been sucked out of this little adventure.
The oven is now 14 years old, left in its wrapping by our home’s previous owners. It was a bottom-of-the-line model, but baked and broiled with only one sick call all these years.
Guess we shouldn’t complain.
But you know we will! 😉
At least I don’t have to clean the thing again.
Phew! I thought it might be the a/c that died! Today, that would be a disaster. You’d be invited here faster than you can say “darn, it’s hot!” or some variation thereof.