My old electric stove is shot. The oven door doesn't close properly which means that there's no way to know what temperature I'm actually baking things at.
Not such a big deal during summer as I don't like to turn the oven on much anyway, but I told SM months ago that we needed to plan for a new oven by this Fall.
"How about a gas stove instead of electric?" SM queried.
"Won't that be expensive to buy a stove AND run the line?" I reply.
"Let me check into it." Which SM did and we decided that budget-wise it was doable and a smart investment besides. SM says the water heater needs replacing soon too and he'd like to upgrade to a gas water heater while we're at it.
Fast forward a few months.
I'm making brewed Ice Tea the other day and I'm using a pot holder to lift the lid and drain off the tea bags. While I'm moving the pot off the burner, I must've laid the pot holder on the counter in such a way that the little loopy thingy-ma-bob attached to the pot holder laid directly on the burner coils.
I have a small mini fire going and as I whack it out SM (who was observing all this) says to me...
"You know, having a gas stove means that you'll have to deal with an open flame all the time."
I look at him with the pot holder still smoking in my hand.
I can see in his eyes the memory of me walking away from a pot of rice to gab with a neighbor next door. I returned home to a smoky house, a ruined pot and the stench of 3 inches of burnt rice fused to said pan.
Not too long ago, I decided to steam some broccoli and cauliflower for dinner. The strangest smell started coming from the pot. Upon inspection I discovered that I hadn't put any water in it. Um, steam means water, Tami.
(What can I say? I'm easily distracted and age is NOT improving that condition.)
"Maybe a gas stove isn't the best suggestion." I offer up. "Given my track record and all..." I say with my eyebrows raised.
"Maybe not." SM walks away with a smile and shake of his head.