The Kitchen Conspiracy
It seems my husband and I are attracted to houses of “a certain age,” if you get my drift. The centerpiece of our last kitchen was a Mary Kay-colored oven. Alas, it thwarted my attempts to pawn it off on an antique dealer by celebrating Thanksgiving with fireworks followed by turkey tartare.
Our current kitchen if possibly five minutes newer. I don’t like to brag, but enshrined on its counter is the very first microwave ever designed. Yes, my kitchen’s vintage, but that’s no reason for this devious obsolescence conspiracy it’s plotting!
It all started with the faucet. One day it worked perfectly, the next, not. I suppose I should be grateful…some people pay a lot of money to have a fountain in their home.
That litle malfunction actually saved me time in the morning. I could wash the breakfast dishes, shower and water the plants in the hall, all with one twist of the spigot.
Annoying, but no big deal really… until I returned home from my two hour meeting.
You just know there’s a problem when you glance through the windows and see your cats perched in the chandelier. The neighbors are still refering to our house as Lake Wobegon.
The next thing to join was the microwave. Have you ever tried to open a microwave that’s missing its handle? It is far easier to open a new CD case wearing oven mitts.
Before I knew it, the dishwasher had signed on. I have to admit, it had a bit of help.
Did you know that when a 5’11” woman is surprised by an open dishwasher rack to the back of the knees, there will be ample evidence that prongs and thongs do not mix. I no longer have to mop my kitchen floor. It’s now self-cleaning when we flip on the dishwasher.
Then came the burners on the stove. If you have never tried to fix a holiday dinner with only two burners and a microwave (handle affixed by suncatcher suction cups), you just don’t know what you’re missing. It really took me back to the camping trip where I tried making spaghetti and meatballs in the rain, over a campfire, with only one pot, no colandar and a palmetto leaf as a hot pad.
The most recent appliance to adopt the conspiracy was the coffee pot. Last week, for no apparent reason, the fancy schmancy carafe-less (also warranty-less) coffee maker barfed inky-colored water all over my kitchen counter that smelled like pond sludge from the Dunkin’ Donuts lagoon. Thank goodness the cats tracked down its creature, evidenced by the paw prints across the off-white carpet.
Are you seeing a pattern here? With the water I mean? My husband has seriously begun to rethink the wisdom of having married a woman born under the water sign.
I’ve finally decided to believe that the kitchen is not really conspiring against us, it’s supporting our nomination for Extreme Makeover: Kitchen Edition.
Nevertheless, I’m wishing I could detach the garage from our house right about now. It’s a little too close to the kitchen for comfort. If the garage ever gets wind of this conspiracy, I’m afraid of the results. As a precaution, we’ve cut off water to that part of the house, but still, there are way too many contraptions out there that could adopt a no-blow, no-mow or no-go policy. I’d just as soon not be nominated for CMT’s new reality TV show, Trick My Leafblower, where they run intervention on lawn equipment gone rogue.
P.S. Yes, I really did have a pink oven like the one above.