Ramblings from the Desert

The man who trades freedom for security does not deserve nor will he ever receive either. ~Benjamin Franklin

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Location: New Mexico

Author of the urban fantasy novel, The Music of Chaos, and the paranormal romance, The Canvas Thief.

Sunday, January 22, 2006

Help the Kitchen-Impaired

Saturday afternoon, 4:30 PM-ish

I'm sprawled on the couch, nose in a book and the Rat Dog on my stomach. Because of the proximity to suppertime, the Rat Dog is squirming and managing to stomp on my ovaries. Huh, good thing I wasn't planning on using them anytime soon.

From the garage comes the sounds of cutting and hammering. The J-Man is dismembering the neighbors.

Yeah. I wish.

First, that scenario would mean no more irritating neighbors. But, most important, it would mean he wasn't taking the kitchen door off its hinges. It's the middle of winter and our leaky little house doesn't need to lose a door for any length of time.

The local news ran a segment recently where they took infrared photos of a house at night. The bright areas indicated points of heat loss. If they did that to our house, the resulting image would look like the Las Vegas Strip. I shiver at the notion of impending drafts and keep reading.

How did it come to this? I wonder. Then I remember. Oh, yeah. We bought the bloody wall oven today.

Several hours earlier, in a car, headed for "town."

J-Man and I are sitting in traffic, waiting to merge onto a busy road. He reaches across the seat and pokes me under my arms. "No tickling. Stop that and drive," I say. "Besides, you can't reach me through my clothes."

"What're you wearing? Six coats? You're like a bum." He scowls at the vehicle in front of us, a land yacht driven by a woman who's afraid to merge. "Oh, I guess 'bum' is politically incorrect. 'Homeless person?'"

"I think that's not P.C. either."


"Or 'roof-impaired.'" I shuck off one of my coats. "Fuck that. They're bums. Bums."

Brimming with insensitivity, we head for the local home improvement warehouses for our weekly tithing. Last's week's adventures in home improvement saw the purchase of a stainless steel cooktop that we have no place for. This week, we're still working up a design for the kitchen renovation that that appliance requires.

Afterwards, he points the car toward the appliance liquidations store. I'm not concerned. What are the odds that we'll find a wall oven in our pitiful price range?

The gods must be laughing.

We find a nice stainless steel oven with convection for an unholy low price. So now, we are the proud owners of two appliances that we can't yet use. Peachy.

So I sit on the couch, a hungry Rat Dog jabbing tiny paws into my belly and a husband high on home improvement. The project has now metastasized to more of the kitchen. We can't match the existing countertop. "We'll replace the entire countertop, then," says J-Man, his eyes filled with the kind of excitement usually reserved for the Victoria's Secret television ads.

I think I'm about to become kitchen-impaired.


Graphics and Content Copyright © Patricia Kirby 2005