Anita is packing the kitchen today and I’m hauling boxes from the basement den to the garage. While my wife was toiling away upstairs, she opened the oven door to see this. Wait till Brittany gets home from school. I’ll ask her to get something I left in the oven. She’ll freak.
Our oven conked out about two months ago. I was baking potatoes and curiously, the kitchen wasn’t getting warm like it usually does. I opened the door to check and it was stone cold in there. Anita and I meant to get a new range, but when the move to Iowa was solidified, appliance acquisition was postponed.
Seems like I forgot something that night two months ago, no?
This reminds me of a similar incident when I was oven-roasting corn for a small bachelor get-together before I moved to Iowa in ’95. Two weeks later when I was packing up my apartment, after an interview, a bus trip, and lots of busy stuff, I opened my oven door to find desiccated maize shriveled up in the pan.
Lesson: when I’m in the kitchen, don’t distract me.