Well, almost nothing.
For weeks, Manuela and I have been hosting repairmen. We have counted 23 different repairmen. This does not include the repairmen who have visited us more than once. The cocina has been Grand Central Terminal!
There have been gas leaks, repairs and replacements. We’ve had near-misses with both Manuela and I lighting paper towels and tossing them into the bottom of the oven in hopes that the stove would warm and cook our dinner evenly.
After weeks of oven drama, Manuela gave the repairmen and ultimatum: fix it or else. Our family eats everything from the oven: turkey, chicken, cupcakes, cake. You name it and we bake it.
Finally, the repairmen gave in.
They told Manuela they would go to the store and purchase a new oven. This was Wednesday. When they returned from the store, they said that they had found an oven they liked, but that they would wait until it went on sale on Friday.
Thursday morning was a fire drill. I overslept and was rushing around. The boy and I were a little confused. What day was it? Thursday. Gym uniform day.
I walked into the kitchen and got quite the surprise: there were two ovens in the middle of the floor.
This wasn’t adding up.
That oven wasn’t there when I went to bed last night.
And it wasn’t Friday, the day the oven went on sale.
Good morning, Manuela. Is this oven stolen?
“Good morning, Señora. Señor Erik (lead repair guy) and three young men rang the doorbell last night while we were all asleep. They said they had a new stove, so I let them in.”
Of course you did.
“What do you think, Manuela?”
“I think it’s wonderful, Señora!”
Mental note: she did not say, “I don’t think it’s stolen.”
Awesome. I’m not sure if I lowered my standards or just gave in.
Didn’t we just visit five churches earlier this week? After seeing all of the elaborate art in those churches, I am even more afraid than ever of burning in Hell. No thank you.
Later Señor Erik appeared, looking especially tired. Good morning, Señor Erik. Is this oven stolen? (I know, my greeting needs work).
Señor Erik laughed. “It’s a new stove, Señora!”
Mental note: He did not say, “It’s not stolen.”
For the second time in as many hours, I heard myself say, “If it’s not stolen, we can keep it.”
How in the horno do these things happen to us?