Changes
Last night as I was baking some seriously kick ass scones (it's true: butter makes life better) Tracey told me we were going to get a new oven. My instinct was to go fetal on the floor and start moaning. I've been known to do this when life kicks me in the gut. I did it at this year's Oscar-viewing party when someone (Maggie?) told me that Renee Russo turned Christian and regrets her superhot sex scenes and nudity from the movie, The Thomas Crown Affair. I fell to the floor, fetal, and began moaning, "no no no." How is it that a belief in God would cause you to publicly renounce writhing naked on the floor with Pierce Brosnan? Honestly, that would be the "oh God is real and he loves me" moment for me.
But I digress. My point is that I don't want a new oven. Granted our gas oven is from the 1897 Sears catalog and requires "coaxing" to work. You have to let the gas build up and the wave the front door to make the flame go whoosh, or if you're daring and stupid, lean down and blow until the flames leap out at you. But I've become accustomed to its tricks and I know where its hot spots are and how it cooks. Most ovens don't cook at the temperature you choose; they may be close but not exact. I know mine tends to run a wee bit cooler but it cooks hotter toward the front right so I need to rotate baked goods so the right side of the cake or tray of cookies doesn't burn. My oven is quirky and has dramatic tension: what's that gas smell? I love my oven.
I'm not 100% clear on why our new landlords even care about our oven, and we are deeply in fear of what type they'll pick out. Taste is not their forte. These are the same folks who've installed a sign on our lawn that reads "GARGES FOR RENT" I've had friends ask if my house is the one with the big misspelled sign on the lawn. Yes, thanks for noticing. They tend to favor cheap, ugly things, so we're not in good hands.
I wonder if the seventy-something landlord's husband will install it, and, if so, if he'll have his gun tucked into his jeans as he did when he installed our sink. No, I'm not kidding, and yes, I'm pretty sure it's illegal too. I laughed about it when Tracey told me though I kept asking, "He has a permit? Yes, but not a carrying concealed permit, right?" But this time I'm not laughing. This time the very-bad-at-installation man with a gun is coming to take my oven and I do not approve.
If revenge is a dish best served cold, I may be in luck. I don't trust him to install the oven properly. All our dishes may soon be served cold. Though I don't think that's what the adage meant. Damn it.