Last week I posted about how my oven ended it's life. Because that's just the sort of mad, crazy subject matter I like to post about. It was a Tuesday, of course.
Being thirty years old, and of an indisputably strange design, I did not mourn it. But I did mourn the ability to cook inside the house.
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| Weirdest oven in the world. |
Our bbq, which sits on the back deck, has a gas burner, which I valiantly cooked several meals on. The most memorable being spag bol at 7:30am in the rain (swimming night- have to cook early).
After two days of this I got my act together enough to order a new stove/oven. On the internet. Unseen, untouched. For some reason, we thought we were clever to do this.
It's so easy! we thought, clearly delusional by this point from too many hours standing in the rain and cooking. We'll just whack out the old one, bash out the drawers underneath and whack in the new one. What could be simpler?
And because we're cheap, we decided to pick up instead of having the damn thing delivered, saving a grand total of $45. It was supposed to arrive at the store on Sunday, allowing Mike to collect it. But of course it didn't.
Not deterred, Mike invited his mate over on Sunday afternoon to help remove the old unit, with the promise of a bit of demolition and a beer being hard to resist for any man. His theory being, at least the old oven would be gone.
They came up against a few obstacles. Firstly in a final middle finger salute to us, it was hard wired into the electricity, not just plugged in. Secondly it was even heavier than it looked. And it looked REALLY heavy.
Mike and our mate spent a bit of time discussing a plan B but as no-one was an electrician we left it there. Our friend drank his beer and left for his home which has a working stove/oven. It also currently houses a newborn, so I was not envious because a broken oven neither cries nor requires breastfeeding.
On Tuesday afternoon Issy and I stood in the freezing rain for 25 minutes outside the loading dock area of Seconds World while some Irish backpackers who I'm pretty sure worked there located our new oven and loaded it into the back of the car.
When I got home I had to rearrange the car so the children could actually sit in it and I could go to karate and swimming. There was no way I was getting the bastard out on my own.
When we finally did get it out, and into the house, we discovered it too, required hard wiring to a power source.
I really don't know why I didn't start crying at this point but I didn't. I am stronger than I look. Even to myself. Did I mention it was Tuesday?
So today has been oven day. All day. First I rang our extra handy handyman Pete, whose brother JP knows far more about me than he should as reported here. And Pete who last time I needed him had a broken arm? hand? said he'd better come too, which was just as well as it's a pretty heavy mofo.
Pete and JP rocked up, and they ummed and aahed, bashed and crashed. Lifted and grunted in a manly way. They have a preferred electrician and so I didn't have to think about finding one, or worry about complex electrical stuff.
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| Quite a bit of manly grunting went on at this part. |
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| Interesting Feature: oven door lifts up not out (sort of like a sports car, but not really). |
There's no doubt we could have saved some money by making sure our new appliance came with a power cord but I'm trying not to think of that, instead, I'm just enjoying being inside while cooking dinner.
And the $45 we saved on delivery can make a tiny contribution towards the bills, when they come in.
It's worth it. At least that's what I tell myself.
First world problem solved.
