Monday, January 24, 2005

It's gone . . .

. . . and I hardly knew it. This one, anyway.

It's funny how you get attached to certain appliances. For me, it was a microwave oven.

Hubby brought the first one in eons ago only a few weeks after Da Kid was born. One of those rent-to-own "deals" that went BACK as soon as I was in good enough shape to read the contract and understand the darned thing. When I showed Hubby my calculations that by the time it was paid for, it would have cost us over $4,000 -- and once he stopped cussing -- it was out of the house within minutes.

Except I'd become accustomed to the ease of heating baby formula within seconds, especially since I'd given birth to a bottomless pit that required feeding every two hours. (Twenty-five years later not much has changed. The "Eating Machine" still enhales food every two hours, but at least he sleeps through the night now.)

When Hubby said we really didn't need a microwave after all, I responded quite logically by pitching one heck of a royal hissy fit. Okay, forget logic but I'd obviously made my point. Hubby came home with another microwave the next day.

Huge and heavy, it had all kinds of buttons and other fancy stuff. And unlike the rent-to-own "deal" it had a manual that explained how to use the buttons and other fancy stuff it had.

That microwave oven was with me for close to 20 years: through formula, baby food, junior food, instant oatmeal, hot dogs, left-over pizza (not that there was ever much of that with Da Kid's appetite), chicken cacciatore, tons of roasts . . . and then, finally, it blew up. I mean, it blew up.

By then, Hubby agreed with me. We had to have a microwave oven. If we didn't, he couldn't reheat his coffee.

After a measly four years, that one died last night not with a noble bang of defiance, but with a simple fizzle. No sparks, explosions, or flames. This one was just . . . gone.

Hubby brought a new one in tonight. While what had served us for four years sat by the road -- alone in the dark like a piece of trash waiting for pick-up -- I went through the new one's manual looking only for what's now become important to me: the popcorn setting.

How callous I've become.


Blogger Jenna said...

When my microwave finally dies, I will give it a pat and thank it for its service before I send it to the dump, but I will secretly be pleased that I can trade the old, huge clunker in on something with new and improved features, like pre-programmed buttons for routine tasks. Right now, I have to hit seven buttons to pop a bag of popcorn. That's too many.

10:37 AM  
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