Turn the Burner On

Recently, my stove took a turn for the worse. It was forcing me to play a roulette game whenever I wanted to use the burners. Sometimes the left burner worked, sometimes the right burner worked. Sometimes the left burner started to work but quit working while I thought my soup was simmering contentedly on an appropriate heat. Finally, the day came when life support had to be removed and a new range was inevitable.

Poke my eyes out with a paperclip. I hate shopping.

The choice was clear, however. No shopping=no food production=no meals. Time to put on the big girl pants and deal with the sales force of appliances. Fortunately, my long-suffering husband is an excellent shopper and he knows how to keep me in check when I want to purchase the first item I see so I can rabbit out of the showroom. We needed to upgrade a couple of other appliances so the salivating salesman put together a "package of delight." Fine, fine.

Then, the gut punch was presented. Rebates were part of the "sweet deal." Yes, the rebates made the bottom line look much better but my tolerance for rebate execution is low, very low due to past trauma with such nonsense.

Again, time to put on the big girl pants and face the R monster. I will spare you the sordid details but let's just say there were weird deadline dates, a salesman's unhelpful e-mail, a call to a non-help number that yielded the need for bilingualism and a total abandonment of the "easy-on-line" option.

I grabbed the pile of paperwork and began the tedious process of recording model numbers, serial numbers, store ID numbers, invoice numbers, purchase prices and our cat's vaccination records (just kidding, we don't have a cat).

Finally, the deed was done, so to speak. All paperwork was stuffed into envelopes, addressed, stamped and put in the mail, with a prayer for no more issues.

Now we wait. I am resigned to the fact that I have a 50-50 chance of success and so be it. I need to bake cookies and that is a sweet enough deal for me.