Friday, June 25, 2010
Begging your pardon?


...in which my gentle readers get to settle a fierce disagreement. *snerk*




When I moved into the house, I couldn't use my brand new gas range, because the house has an electric hook-up for the range in the kitchen, and it came with a functioning range. I shrugged it off. I knew very much that this was a project house coming into it, and so using the manky old stove that came with for a while was not an oogy prospect to me. I'd just make sure to not let any of my edibles touch the surfaces, yeah?




Well, the more I've looked at the range, the more I've come to realize it's not that old after all. It was simply limned with a revolting mix of greasy, grungy icky filth. Yes, I've been living with that for a few months now, but looking at it Thursday night, the major gross-out factor on the range was the little venty things which were clotted with muck and oomska. I went to the bathroom, got an old toothbrush and began scrubbing away at the mess. Well, I got the lion's share of the gunk out, but the areas near where the handle attached to the door were un-reachable.




Himself was in here on the computer, typing up a post, and I called him in for an assist with the dismantling of the oven door. With power tools. Yes, it had to come out of there. That gooey muck was so frelling nasty. [How the hell did they get grease, goo and foody bits in those vents? I mean, you'd literally have to have food glops oozing down the front of the range. And it wasn't just one event, because there were different fields of certain colors or textures. One was tomato-red, another baby-doodie golden and so on. Anyway. How? HOW did this happen? How could you have a long gloopy food smear down the front of your appliance and just leave it there? How did I live here for 4 months without scrubbing it out before now?] So, the door disassembled, I merrily tucked into taking the vent and the handle apart and was scrubbing away with the toothbrush, a sponge and a paring knife at the igneous formations encrusted on the vent innards when Himself exits the room and lobs a little depth charge about OCDism.




Me? I'm a messy person. Truly I am. But I'm all about the clean clutter. Yes, there are free-range dust buffalo around my place. There's a backlog of laundry at about any time you come here. But I don't have crusty nasty foody stuff drying/solidifying/molding/mutating anywhere in the place. Does that make me OCD?



What do you think?


I think I was just being thorough. It looks so clean and shiny now and I'm sure it'll do a much better job of cooking now that it feels fresh and cared-for.




I am NOT OCD. If I were OCD, I wouldn't wear mis-matched socks. I often wear my Tuesday panties on non-Tuesday days. If I were OCD, I would have hoovered those two teeny spiderwebs off the front of the inside of my windshield when I noticed them a few weeks ago.



Note to self: must have car detailed.
*ocd cat courtesy of I Can Has Cheezburger
Written by phlegmfatale
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Name: Phlegmfatale
Location: Elsewhere, Texas, USA

I'm not whining;
I'm unburdening.
FATALE ABSTRACTION


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