Larry brought home that free stove last night, meaning that - after a long day at work - he had to drive an extra 20 minutes for the privilege of hauling a heavy appliance into his van in the pouring rain. And then another 20 minutes home. I didn't see/talk with him until I sashayed in from my yoga class around 9:30 to find him standing in our living room with TWO stoves - our old, half-working one and the "new" one he had brought home.
Our living room...both stoves...
He just stood there, looking at me. And right there I knew, I KNEW, that he had just earned an untold number of marriage points.
"So, it's...uh...not okay?" I asked, knowing darn well that if it were okay, that new-to-us stove would already be installed in its proper place in our kitchen.
The poor man couldn't even answer right away. He just shook his head for a minute, and I watched as water dripped off his still-wet hair. A LOT of marriage points, I thought. Then he said, "There's no plug."
No plug. Our old stove (from 1983) had been hardwired into the wall, and when we replaced it a few years ago with our CraigsList acquisition, we had paid an electrician good money to transform those wires hanging out of the wall into a nice shiny outlet for the stove plug.
"That doesn't make sense. ALL stoves have plugs now," I insisted. "Maybe it's tucked away somewhere."
Larry gestured at the plugless behemoth sitting on a 2-wheeled handcart in our living room. "Be my guest," he said. "I already looked."
"But...but...how OLD is this thing?" I sputtered. (Truly, that's what I did - I sputtered.)
"Looks like it's from 1996," he said.
1996 - I had sent my husband out in the rain for an 18-year-old stove that could kick the bucket at any time, particularly if we should have the temerity to install an expensive plug to fit into that nice outlet we paid for 3 years ago. I swear, I could hear those marriage points racking up in Larry's brain, like a one-armed bandit when you pull the lever.
"Whaddaya want to do?" he asked, knowing full well we didn't have a choice. He just wanted to hear me say it.
"Just move the CraigsList stove back into its spot," I sighed. "I was wrong. I was very wrong. I shouldn't have sent you after that stove. I'm sorry. I'm really, really sorry."
About those marriage points, that is...