But you were totally asking for it.
|just sitting there like |
a son of a bitch.
I feel like a character in an Edgar Allen Poe story, and I don't like it. You and your tell-tale beep.
Oven, you are there and not there.
Oven, I can't quit you, but you are getting on my nerves. You can't do one damn thing except be there, taking up oven-space in the cabinet built specially for you, and enacting the form of an oven but with no function.
It's like your tiny corner of the kitchen is a model home made out of broken things. Where are the cookies and casseroles of yesteryear?
Ugh, I have got to go to Lowe's,