The Chronicles of a Broken Microwave: A Saga of Hilarity and WoeThe Microwave blog

0 0
Read Time:3 Minute, 52 Second

Sometimes we don’t know what we’ve got ’til it’s gone. Take our microwave, for example – it kicked the bucket last week. The missus informed me over the phone in a grumfused- grumpy and confused) tone. I was walking home at this point

“Did you try switching on and off?” I asked, all tech-savvy

“Unplugging and plugging back in, you mean?” she snarked.

“You know what I mean,” I responded with the universal verbal Tippex after quietly thanking myself for not using words like “shutdown” and “reboot”.


The missus tried my tip with a few humphs as I listened on the other end, still on the phone.
“It didn’t work” She gave up.


“Not to worry, I will take a look when I arrive” I promised, picking up the pace.
I went straight to the kitchen, probably pretending to be an expert on microwaves and subconsciously performed the “unplug-wait-plug” dance. Then I tried swapping out the fuse.

I immediately felt a fog of stupidity hovering over my head. I looked at my missus who was watching my every step with” my husband is an expert” looks.
I then lifted the microwave to the dining room and plugged it there.
Still no joy.


I glared at the old white box and wondered if it remembered watching the first moon landing. 


I wished I could ask this, but the box was motionless. Its blinking monochrome eyes were long gone and something unknown had silenced the attention-seeking beeps forever.


I gave a long sigh of farewell. A mental certificate was signed and funeral plans were arranged.
It was time to call our estate agent. Lucky for us, our landlord agreed to replace it. Phew!


We just had our washing machine replaced and weren’t sure if our landlord will agree to replace the microwave at this point.


“Leave to me,” the estate agent responded in a heavy accent.
Phew,

I felt relieved knowing that I wouldn’t have to pay out of my own pocket.


January is the worst month, first, we overspend at Christmas, and second, there is a six-week gap between pay dates – because of Christmas.  

We didn’t miss our white box that day as both of us left home in the early hours. And in the evening, we made some non-microwave meal and our ex-microwave sat in the kitchen, sad, lifeless – waiting for a miracle.


The next morning, we had oven-made porridge. The missus insisted it tasted better.

 It was- sort of, but we also felt kinda bad for our late microwave buddy.

So, we sat and waited for a new one to arrive, courtesy of our landlord, comforted by the taste of our microwaved food memories.


After waiting for three days, we decided to chase up.
I thought I told you to buy one and we’ll compensate you!” The agent huffed like a cantankerous old goat, “


We couldn’t conclude whether the estate agent was lying or the ghost of our old microwave trying to stop us from replacing him. Either way, there was no point arguing with the agent.
AS I ordered a replacement. And we started to truly miss the box.


By day four, we played the “we-don’t-need-a-microwave-anyway” charade, but the cold milk and leftovers were not convinced.
Day five: the missus heated milk in a pan, on the hob, on the kitchen floor…..
 I must admit, the pan looked delicious with burnt milk and the aroma took no time to fill the entire house.
Was it an act of posthumous revenge from our beloved white box? 
“You disrespected me, now let me fill your house with my revenge, you will then never forget me (evil laugh)”
Maybe, the box was indeed trying to communicate with us, warning l us for disrespecting him.
Every time we opened our main door, we were welcomed by the aroma. No matter what we do- from letting the windows open and freezing to our (mine, to be precise as the missus doesn’t have any- literally) balls off to emptying entire Febreze cans, chanting, twirling, or trying an all-out exorcism (slight exaggeration). – nothing worked for the stubborn bastard.
But the more we feel the smell, the more we missed our box, He would never let this happen to us if he was alive. With the exception of rare overflowing, he was a loyal companion to us.
Rest in culinary peace, big fella!

Ding dong. The doorbell went.
Hey, gorgeous I cooed, as I unboxed the newest member of the kitchen family.

 “You look absolutely delectable!” 

Happy
Happy
0 %
Sad
Sad
0 %
Excited
Excited
0 %
Sleepy
Sleepy
0 %
Angry
Angry
0 %
Surprise
Surprise
0 %

Average Rating

5 Star
0%
4 Star
0%
3 Star
0%
2 Star
0%
1 Star
0%

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *