But a more pressing issue has come to light.
Firstly, a big hi to the folks in Russia. Mega audience increase from there over the weekend. Can I just say, I totally did you proud on the vodka front this past weekend. Really. In fact, you should probably send more.
Back to my pressing issue. A dire situation, if you will.
I got home from work on Saturday, finally tipping the balance from drunk into hung-over, only to have #1 Hubby advise me in a totally inappropriately calm and offhanded manner, that the microwave was broken.
THE MICROWAVE IS BROKEN!
THE MICROWAVE IS BROKEN!
We must move out. To somewhere that has a working microwave.
It looks normal, it turns on, it makes all the right noises - but there is no heat (a lot like men...ho ho).
Devestated. Crushed. Panic frenzy setting in.
The microwave is the very first appliance I ever learnt to
I think my microwave may have done this to me on purpose, on account of feeling shunned over my affections leaning more towards the espresso machine and the new laptop.
It can be tough when love dies.
Breaking up is hard to do
Only, it's not that I no longer loved you, oh dear and cherished, formerly reliable microwave. It's just that we were at that "comfortable" stage of our relationship. I relied on you, because you were always there. I may not have lovingly stroked you every single day (as I do with the espresso machine as I'm hanging off it, sniffing the fumes as it grinds the beans for my morning ass-kicking wake up). But that doesn't mean I loved you any less than the early days of our relationship. When you were all shiny and new and I was totally in awe of you, couldn't get enough of you, and was regularly spotted talking to you (true story...couldn't work the bastard thing out, so was regularly found muttering at it because it was scorching all of my food).
But now, you have left me. Sort of. Your heating element has, at the very least.
Being inherently lazy, I came up with the fab idea of trying to live without a microwave.
Better for the environment, lower electricity bills, and no guilt about what all those radioactive microwaves could be doing to my kids. Win-win all round.
So far it's been almost 48 hours.
The withdrawal symptoms are many, not the least of which being my inability to prepare any meal so that each component is piping hot and ready for the table at exactly the same bloody time. Anyone who can do that is either Martha Stewart or has more than one oven and stove top. Or they're just lying.
But anyhow I've made do. And I've been all braggy and smug about it way too early.
I bragged away to #1 Brother from next door, since he has a brand spanking new microwave that's all posh and fancy.
And then I sheepishly knocked on his door not 10 minutes later, asking if I could borrow his microwave to nuke the crap out of a bag of popcorn.
The rest of my totally faithless family reckon I will not last a week without a microwave. I'm determined to prove them wrong. But, I do like popcorn. So, at the very least, I may need to go out and buy a popcorn maker. And we may need to get used to eating salads for dinner, in lieu of hot meals.
Thank god a Mojito is served cold.
Wish me luck!
