Oh, and the guy who came to “fix” it didn’t actually fix it. He said it was unfixable. I stupidly held out for our home warranty company to replace it but since the electrician told them I broke my microwave with “blunt force,” they’re not buying me a new one. By the way, he didn’t tell ME that he suspected blunt force. What does he think I did? Swing at my microwave with a sauce pan? “DAMN MICROWAVE!! HOW DARE YOU OVERCOOK MY MICROWAVABLE SWEET POTATO!”
So anyway, we haven’t had a chance (or the motivation) to get a new one which means I’ve been cooking like an 1886 farm wife since early July. At first I would try to sneak things in the microwave. “Oh, ten seconds just to warm up a cheese sandwich can’t hurt…” but I’d hear one snap, crackle, pop from the MW and get all frantic.
Today, as we were warming up baby food on the stove and heating a microwavable sweet potato in the toaster over (which takes about 55 minutes longer than in the microwave), my mother-in-law said, “I bet you’ll be glad when you get a microwave.”
But here’s the weird thing: I don’t really miss it that much. I’ve always been a little suspicious of microwaves and their radioactive waves. In fact, I’ve even hypothesized that MWs are the reason for all the weirdness in today’s kids. When I was pregnant I always left the room when the microwave was on. Now, out of habit, I still keep my distance.
Plus, warming up things on the stove or in the toaster oven isn’t such a biggie. It kinda tastes better. And it makes me feel more like a true cook. Or a pioneer woman.
So I may just stick with this no-microwave situation. But you won’t catch me milking a cow or anything.