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Remember by possessed microwave? The one that caused my pregnancy hormones to run amuck?
It recently had its last hurrah.
We have some friends who have two children, the youngest of whom was born a mere 6 days after Colton. Sadly, they live about an hour from us, but as they go to our church, we do see them about once a week.
A few Sundays ago, we were talking after the service. Our conversation carried us from the worship center, to the children’s building (even though their children attend worship with them), and into the parking lot. We were practically the only two cars in the lot, and since my friend mentioned they were going to Kroger to get some things to eat in the car on the way home, I suggested they just come to our house for leftovers.
We had chips and salsa chicken and salad, enough for four adults and one toddler. Perfect right?
That’s what I thought until Hubby, who was in charge of heating things up, said the microwave wouldn’t work. Thinking it was merely possessed I asked if he had unplugged it. “There’s no point. It, like, won’t turn on or anything.” And then he said something about electrical connections or something I didn’t understand.
What I did understand was that we needed a new microwave.
So, off we went to Target, armed with gift cards we received as gifts for Colton, to get a new microwave. I am now the proud owner of a stainless steel Emerson microwave that can hold our large dinner plates.
And has (yet) to be possessed.
So, in Part 1 of this wonderful saga, we learned that my microwave would randomly stop working and flash “6666.” Fun times!
So, this temporary satanic presence occurred multiple times over the next couple of months. It wasn’t a really big deal; usually, we could simply unplug the microwave, leave it a few minutes, and it would work again. At the worst, it only needed to be left unplugged overnight.
Not a big deal until April, 2010. Hubby had left to drive to the next big town over to take his PE (read: big, giant, huge-deal 8 hour test). He had used the microwave before he left without any issue. I, being quite pregnant at the time, was excited to have a night with a bed to myself and the ability to eat a Warm Delight with cool whip in peace.
So, I settled in for a nice night of Bones with a side of Warm Delight. Mixed up the lovely chocolaty mix, set it in the microwave, and cue microwave possession. I tried unplugging the darn thing. Still possessed. Tried again, and nothing. So I did what any rational, very pregnant woman who NEEDED a warm brownie did, I called my husband.
“The microwave won’t work! It’s all your fault!” (In retrospect, I wonder how this could be his fault. At the time, it made perfect sense.) “The ONLY thing I wanted to do was eat a Warm Delight while watching Bones and it’s RUINED! I hate my life! My life is awful! I hate you! Why can’t you fix this microwave!? I’m going to buy a new one. Right. Now. I don’t care that it’s 8:30 at night. I am finding a new microwave and I am spending any amount of money necessary to get it!”
Um yeah. Absolutely the craziest hormone induced rant I had. I didn’t have many, but the ones I had, as you can tell, were doozies.
You will be glad to know, I’m sure, that after a lot of unplugging and plugging and holding down the reset button, I managed to get the microwave to work for the glorious 90 seconds required to cook my warm, gooey brownie.
I did, however, miss the rest of Bones. Rats.
My microwave is possessed.
My parents gave us a lovely, white, small microwave after they finished their kitchen renovation. It fit perfectly in our small kitchen, and the price (free!) was perfect.
But, a year into our happy relationship, strange things happened.
One night, we heard the microwave beeping. Beep! *a few seconds pass* Beep! Over and over. There, in the dark kitchen, the microwave was beeping continuously. With every beep it would display another 6. The digital display soon read “6666.”
Okay, that was strange, but we unplugged the microwave, and with a few dying beeps, the “6666” faded to black.
We plugged the microwave back in the next morning and it worked perfectly. We chalked it up to one of the strange things that occasionally happen, and moved on.
A few months later, it happened again. Hubby took it downstairs to his shop and determined that something electrical that I don’t understand needed to be cleaned. Or something like that.
So yay! Fixed microwave!
Or was it?