With a new apartment comes a new kitchen. And, last night, I set off the smoke detector. The last time I set off a smoke detector was… actually I’ve never set off a smoke detector. You see what this stove makes me do?
What I need when I go apartment-hunting is a test run. I need, say, fifteen minutes. Enough time to mince some garlic, heat oil in a skillet, and sear a chicken breast. I want to see how that stove is going to treat me. If all goes well, then I can commit. You think I could get that written into a lease?
But, I haven't found a realtor who will let me try out the kitchen. So here I am, with some very hostile feelings. The stove and I are not speaking. We’ve had a fight and we haven’t made up yet. I’m hoping the relationship can still be saved.
But what about the oven? Will the oven do me wrong too? See, now I’m developing trust issues.
There’s only one thing to do: Throw caution to the wind and take the plunge (cue all of those other clichés)… all in the name of