Now we're cooking with gas

When I decided to do the blog thing I swore I wouldn’t blog about boring day-in-the-life stuff, but something is going on in my life. Something big. Something dramatic. Something that’s potentially…explosive. And I’ve got to get it off my chest.

I’m getting a new oven.

Yep. After being told by two different people that my old oven could potentially be dangerous (who knew big holes in the top were a bad thing?) I’m biting the bullet and buying a new one.

This is hard for me since what I want more than almost anything in the world is a double oven—you know like they have on the cooking shows. But my kitchen isn’t laid out for a double oven and since this experience is traumatic enough without doing a total remodel I’m going with the standard size.

But here’s the really stressful thing: my old oven is gas. I grew up in an electric oven house. I lived in electric oven apartments all through school. I know nothing of pilot lights or sealed burners or any of that stuff, so I’ve pretty much lived in constant fear for the last few years that my house was going to explode and/or I would die of carbon monoxide poisoning (hence the carbon monoxide detector that I keep literally right by my bed.)

When I heard that most kitchens are built with both gas and electric hook-ups behind the oven, I got giddy thinking that I could maybe leave the gas oven world for my blessed electricville!

But first, the salesguy told me, I had to pull the oven away from the wall to see if there was an electric outlet behind it.

How do I do this? I asked.

Oh, just grab and pull was the answer.

Picture. House. Exploding.

But won’t the house explode? I ask.

Uh…it shouldn’t, was the answer. (FYI, the answer I was looking for was “it won’t”.)

So yesterday I got up the nerve to “grab and pull,” and since I’m writing this you have probably guessed that the house did not explode. (Yea!)

((But still I made sure not to do this until after the GG2 sequel outline was safely in my editor’s hands so that if I did, in fact, die in a terrible house explosion they could hire someone else to finish the Gallagher Girl story according to my specifications.))

Then I got my flashlight (because even though I’m afraid of gas doesn’t mean I’ve given up my farm-girl-ness entirely!) And I looked behind it and realized two things:

1. No one has cleaned back there in a very long time. And 2. there’s no electric outlet.

So I trekked down to my local appliance dealership and looked at all the models they had on the floor and the ones online and bought one. Simple. They were even offering free delivery (score!), but right as I was handing over my credit card the saleslady said, “Now you do know we can’t do anything with the gas.”

Me: what do you mean? You deliver and install?

Her: Well, with gas we don’t install. Only electric.

Me: Why can’t you install if the oven’s gas?

Her: Your house might explode.

Well, she didn’t really say that. What she technically said was that their insurance wouldn’t cover it, but the meaning is pretty clear, right? Gas=potential explosion.

But then, she went on to say, “You could do the gas part yourself.”

Yeah. Like that’s gonna happen.

Be good, everyone! And be safe.
Ally