I'm now a home-owner. Well...to be accurate, the bank owns most of my home; I think I own the powder room, spare bedroom, and linen closet.
Michael and I began to talk about living together, probably selling his condo and buying a bigger place for the two of us (and his 2000 dvds, my 2000 books, his TV temple, my piano...). So I suppose I was already in the mindset...after many ponderings on my own, with friends and with my parents, I took the plunge and purchased his condo.
I know some of you wonder if this is wise or not, but he made it a place of peace and comfort for me--a place to escape from daily stresses and turmoils. And throughout everything, his home kept those qualities. Yes, at times it is difficult being here, but it really is the best thing for me.
Well...apart from the kitchen.
Yes. I now live with Beelzebub. Oh sure he looks all sweet and innocent, promising to come up to temp or even just turn on, but as soon as you turn your back on him...well, it's not nice. He's either is cold as ice or his ire singes the most innocent of foodstuffs. He even kept his white cloak from the days before his fall to lull you into believing he's one of the good 'uns.I've developed the theory that his fall from grace came out of sheer laziness. He wasn't used much in the previous nine years, pretty much replaced by the microwave, steamers, the grill thingie and toaster oven. I put him through is paces every so often--as did My Beloved One--but not often enough, apparently. But now that he's required to be...well...fully functional at a moment's notice, he's just not happy.
My father even made derisive comments about this stove. So much so that I'm given free access to their wonderful stove to feed myself and others. It will be a while until he is exorcised from my kitchen--I'm hoping for a gas stove, but I need to a) save up for a mini-reno and b) get the association's okay (in case the gas piping needs to go outside the townhouse)--but until then, I'm stuck with this fallen angel...