Hello, my name is Suzy, and I’m an addict.
Like many of my fellow afflicted, I didn’t realize I was one until my drug of choice was taken away from me with no warning.
The microwave died a sudden and inexplicable death. One moment, it’s merrily reheating coffee, and the next, it’s a giant useless metal box, taking up valuable real estate on my kitchen counter. My brother-in-law happened to be visiting, and he took a look at it. He’s one of those guys who not only understands how things work, he understands why they don’t and how to fix it.
He diagnosed the problem as being a blown fuse (too much coffee will do that to you). The next day, I took the dead fuse to the hardware store* and threw myself on their mercy. They found the correct replacement among the countless shelves of mystery wares, and when I got home, I tried to resuscitate the microwave.
I dumped the body in the tiny garbage can (the green bin, for lawn clippings and compost, is huge and expansive, far too palatial for a girl who mows her lawn twice a year; whereas the garbage bin is a size zero), and noticed that it was now completely full, just one day after the trash had been collected. I’ll have to ask B if I can use hers for the rest of the week.
The funny thing is, I didn’t even have a microwave until a couple of years ago, and now I can hardly function without it. I had no idea how much I depended on it for reheating coffee and rice and things like that. It’s a little embarrassing.
If Santa Claus is bringing me a Barbie for Christmas, I’d better buy my own microwave.
*I also made the mistake of going to the (un)Lucky afterwards. In my slightly hung over state, it was even more surreal than usual. All those buzzing fluorescent lights! All that bologna, or things that look like bologna! The smell of discount seafood! Note to Self: Safeway or no way.