Steve-the-Builder: “This oven doesn’t fit.”
Me: “It has to fit. It’s the size oven the people who built the cabinets told me would fit.”
Steve-the-Builder: “It doesn’t fit.”
It would take 10 more days to order and get in another oven. And I’m tired of sandwiches. I miss my own cooking. And I can’t take any more adversity. I explain all of this to Steve-the-Builder. And contemplate sobbing.
Me: “Now is the time to get out your bionic arm and shove it in there.”
Steve-the-Builder figured and finagled. He got out saws and drills.
He sliced out an entire piece of cabinet. He got more wood and cut it up. He climbed inside the oven hole.
Then he got out his bionic arm and he shoved it in there. And it fit and it looked right, just like it was supposed to be that way and as if he didn’t have to spend six hours reconfiguring the cabinets to make it happen.
And then he put on the cooktop. (Countertop color not accurate in this picture–bright worklight in the kitchen.)
I’m cooking with gas!!
I have a kitchen.
I am so baking bread today. And giving some to Steve-the-Builder.
