When we built this house back in 1995, I was sure my kitchen would stand the test of time. I carefully selected natural maple cabinets, genuine simulated medium colored wood flooring, the very best frosty white formica counter tops $16.00 could buy and painted the whole thing a nice shade of light sage green.
It's stood the test of time rather well if I don't say so myself. Back in the mid 2000's, I don't remember when exactly, we replaced a refrigerator when it died and a dishwasher too after it almost burned the place down heating up an old chicken bone in it's motor. But that's it. The whole place is still an homage to light sage green and all of it's peaceful calming effects while cooking tacos in a crockpot.
Several weeks ago the Muffin Man pounded his chest and announced that his company was going to pay him a bonus. A bonus? What the hell is that? The last time his company paid him a bonus we took a trip to China and got Liv out of the deal. The kid is now almost done with kindergarten. As you can imagine now several weeks later, still no actual bonus safe and snug in our bank account, I have announced to the family that if and when there ever is this amazing cash cow that appears on our front lawn, we will be upgrading the kitchen.
After hearing this the Muffin Man said we could go look at new ovens and microwaves. One small step away from granite countertops, but I would take it. I felt slightly guilty since neither one was technically broken. But I was about 2 weeks post op. from this mastectomy business and was eager to kill a few hours in the high end appliance store where we couldn't afford to purchase anything. About 20 minutes into the trip standing amidst Viking and Wolf appliances one of the foobs started to ache in pain and I could hear nothing the salesman said. I announced to my family I needed a couch and a vicodin, and that was the end of new appliance shopping.
Or so I thought.
The other night the Muffin Man is baking some french fries when I hear a loud Zap. Then I hear a loud expletive followed by a wimpy groan. "The oven just shocked me," I hear him say. After pressing several buttons and hearing a few more shocks, he proclaims the oven dead. At this point we see a lightning bolt appear where the time used to display on the top of the range.
The oven is officially dead. We can bake nothing, no slice and bake cookies, no casseroles, no shrinky dinks.
Amped up with a little advil before the tour of appliance stores to look for new ovens this time, we drag the two children around town until we find the perfect GE Profile gas top range with double ovens, and a GE stainless steel microwave to match. They will be delivered this week. Or so the chubby hubby salesman says.
Still no bonus has appeared in our bank account, but clearly a higher being has spoken. You, my small midwestern family, do indeed need to upgrade your kitchen and I have given you the almighty zap of a mid range oven to start you off on the right foot. Thank me later in the form of good deeds and kindness to all mankind.
And this is why I think God wants me to have a updated kitchen.
I need only one more small act of freakish weather or locusts, or parting of salt water and I'm a shoe in for granite countertops with glass block back splashes.
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