December 8, 1998
Little Pink Stoves


Working on it ... in betwixt mad dashes to change the records (you heard me correctly: we're talking vinyl here) and feverish Internet Mail checks ("Any new jobs posted on The Monster Board?"). You know the drill ... click here to read that last fabulous entry ... and then check back later. (Especially if you know of anyone needing an experienced Melon Phrenologist in the Bay Area.)


Later That Day:

I am going to be very honest for a moment here.

As wonderful as this past week has been  --  my first full week as an official *California Girl*  --  I must admit that it hasn't been all library books and Elvis Costello and Chinese food in bed.  A formidable enemy was waiting for me when I landed in Alameda last week: although I've mostly tried to avoid her since I got here, today the two of us finally went one on one.

I suppose it was inevitable.

I knew about her presence in David's life, of course. I knew their history.  I caught a glimpse of her during an earlier visit to California last month, and the truth is I wasn't much impressed. She was older than I'd expected, and heavier, and although we didn't have an actual conversation, per se, I could tell that we were on totally different wavelengths.

Frankly: I had no idea what David had ever seen in her.

He had spoken of her occasionally, in polite but vaguely disparaging terms ... how they'd started out with the best of intentions, but how she'd grown increasingly cold and unresponsive  ...  how he could never turn her on, and how she'd become a burden to him in recent months. For awhile he tried to just ignore her, but that didn't work.

"Every time I turn around," he cried, "there she is!"

The fact is: I was not thrilled by the idea of her sharing our new life together. But the more I tried to ignore her ... the more I thought about her.

"She hates me," I said to David.

"She does not hate you," he said, in a typically bone-headed *Guy* Attempt at reassurance. "You just don't know each other yet."

Privately, I kept hoping that she would just go away, in the middle of the night ... maybe run off and join the circus or something, leaving the two of us in peace ... but of course that never happened. And today I finally came to terms with the fact that she is never, ever going away. At least, not as long as David and I are living together here in Castle DRaftervoi. And the sooner I accept that fact, the better for all concerned.

So this morning, after I'd had my coffee and taken a shower and was feeling sufficiently braced and energized ...

... I pulled her top off, yanked open her mouth and liberally sprayed her down with 409.  And then I scrubbed every inch of her with the biggest, baddest, scratchiest Brillo pad I could find, until she was as pink and raw and shiny as a baby's butt. And then I did it ALL OVER AGAIN.  And when I was done, I sat here and looked at the world's cleanest, shiniest, ugliest, most completely inoperative ...


... PINK STOVE.



IsweartoGodIamnotmakingthisup. We have a pink stove.

David: "It's not pink. It's ... puce."

Terri: "David, darling. 'Puce' was invented for people like you, who are afraid to say the word PINK."

At any rate ... I've managed to conquer the She-Beast in David's life. (Or at least one of them.) I can't guarantee that the Pink Stove and I are going to become bosom buddies or anything. We still need to call the gas company in the next few days and have the silly thing turned on. (David, in more of that typical *Guy* fashion stuff, has never bothered to have the gas turned on here in The Castle. When I got here, he was using the Ugly Pink Stove to store his income tax paperwork. Sheesh.)  Thing is, it's probably going to take me a little while to get used to the whole *Pastel Kitchen Appliance* concept. But I'm sure that once I've managed to burn a panful of Breakfast Scramble, once or twice, the Pink Stove and I will learn to at least tolerate each other.

Now if only I could do something about the vacuum cleaner.
Regina Housekeeper Plus 7000 (glowering at me from the corner): "I hate you, Secra ... I hate you, I hate you, I HATE you ..."



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