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It's Just A Small White Box, How Harmful Can It Be?

It is becoming clear to me that replacing the microwave that The Husband blew to smithereens with the copper-bottomed pot incident was a really bad idea.

I rarely use the microwave. I melt the occasional cube of butter in it. During the holidays I make peanut brittle that I never send to friends, and even melt chocolate, but that's about it.

The main purpose for replacing the microwave was so The Husband could have a form of sustenance while I was away from home and not be forced to rummage through the garbage dumpster behind the pub down the street.

I remember the day quite clearly when we bought our current model. I stared at it for a long time and sighed as I put it in the cart. "It's just a small white box, how harmful can it be?" He asked. "Need I remind you... " I started to say. To which he held up his hand and said, "Easy mistake... I told you... easy mistake." Yeah. Kind of like Janet Jackson's "wardrobe malfunction."

We do have a stove but I am really not comfortable allowing him to use such a large, hot object when I am not in the same room. I don't know what happened but at some point during his childhood he totally missed the lessons where his mother said, "Don't touch, honey. That's hot."

No matter how many times I tell him, he just can't remember normal re-heating times for entrees and if they should be covered, or if they shouldn't. My next venture is to write a book called, "See Dick Use The Microwave". And by Dick I mean the childhood Dick that we all learned to read with, not the recently demoted doorman and instigator of The Great Tip Jar Hunt of '04.

I can't tell you how many times I have been out shopping for a trick or even setting up a trick and my cel phone will ring and on the other end will be, "Babe, I know you're busy. But this salmon and rice...how long in the microwave?" or "Should I cover the marinara sauce?" Each time I have to speak slowly, repeating myself. Once I was in line at Costco and after I hung up the lady behind me said, "That's so cute. My son calls me all the time and asks me the same kinds of questions." Out of respect for The Husband and lack of patience to explain, I never corrected her. I simply smiled and said, "Yeah. Kids! What are you gonna do?"

The problem is, he really does need to call. It's on days like today that he gets pretty cocky and self-assured and does things like put a bowl of white sweet corn in for a few minutes, failing to cover the dish. He found out the hard way that corn kernels, while tiny and sweet, pop like firecrackers on the 4th of July if you don't keep them covered and cook them slowly.

When I arrived home from my trick this evening, he was scraping what appeared to be little pale yellow squares of plastic off the roof of the microwave. When I walked by, I didn't even look. I simply said, "cover in with plastic or waxed paper and set the time for one minute. Write that down."

He started to mumble, "Write it down. I don't need to write it down. I know what I am doing. I am not a child..."

Later I found him over by the message pad on the phone desk.

He totally wrote it down.
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Posted by Foodwhore at March 29, 2004 10:29 PM