So Groundhog Day was a couple of weeks ago, and I guess the ol' rodent saw his shadow, which supposedly means six more weeks of winter.
Bah. Any Texan with the IQ of a doorknob knows that you don't base your weather predictions on a hibernating critter from the east coast. Nosiree. For truly accurate weather forecasts, you have to measure the length of Willie Nelson's braids.
Oh, wait. I might be getting mixed up. That's probably the method for determining when to plant your marijuana seeds.
Well, it doesn't matter, because Texas doesn't "do" spring like everyone else. We like to scatter our 75-degree days throughout November, December, January, and February, just to make things interesting and to confuse the fire ants. That way, when March rolls around, we can make the transition from winter temperatures - about 50 degrees - to summer temperatures - about 100 degrees - in about a week. We don't need three months to acclimate to warmer weather like a lot of other states. Wimps.
ANYway. We had a couple of those spring days last week, and they were enough to trigger the annual Spring Break tradition at my house. What I mean by this is: if it's spring, something breaks.
Of course, the broken item is never anything that would be cheap to replace, like our 15-year-old toaster oven with petrified crumbs in the bottom. And it's never something I'd like to replace, such as my hand mixer. The thing is harvest gold (that ought to tell you it pre-dates rotary dial telephones), uglier than homemade sin, and has a motor that refuses to die. That sucker could mix concrete. And according to my family, who have eaten some of my cooking, it already has. Hardy har har.
So this year, the spring break casualty was my microwave. Now, my whole kitchen could fall into an eight mile deep sinkhole tomorrow and I wouldn't care, as long as I still had a coffee maker and a microwave. As far as I'm concerned, the major food groups are Coffee, Chocolate, and Anything That Can Be Reheated. I'm proud to say I'm the Queen of Reheat. So I was in a bad way.
Hubster. Good old mechanical, Mr. Fix-It, DYI, Norm-Abrams-Wannabe Hubster. I really believe the man can repair just about anything. He ought to be able to. If God had needed power tools to create the earth, He would have envied Hubster's workshop. So I was sure that Hubster was going to rush to my assistance just so he could use his Binford Microwave Torque Saw Vise Grips. Or something. Plus, without a microwave, it was going to be kind of hard for me to reheat his Taco Bell chalupas, so I figured he was motivated.
I rushed to tell Hubster that the microwave was making a noise like an ice maker that's trying to grind up a softball-sized hail stone (don't ask how I know what this noise sounds like). And it was shaking more than a Jello competition near the San Andreas Fault. So you know what Hubster said?
How very helpful.
Well, a microwaveless week went by, and let me tell you, it was stressful. You ever try to reheat mac & cheese on the stove? It's not easy, my friends. I kept telling Hubster, "What do you think I am, some kind of gourmet chef?!"
I guess he finally got tired of boiled hot dogs and cold chalupas, because he gave me the go-ahead to buy a new microwave. It is truly a thing of beauty. And to celebrate Valentine's Day, tonight I'm going to use it to reheat some heart-shaped Pastaroni. Sometimes you just have to live a little.
Now I'm just praying that next Spring Break, a tornado passes over our house, sucks up the stove, and deposits it in the next county. And you know what I'll say if that happens?