Time to take a trip down good ole' Ventnor Ave.
When I think of my kitchen of the last few months, this is what comes to mind:
I don't really recall winning a zonk on Let's Make a Deal, but I just would like to know, Carol Merrill, where is my donkey? Because it would certainly be more useful than any of my appliances as of late.
The portable dishwasher that I was so overjoyed to get, started kicking up a fuss before it was even a year old.
Our oven decided to raise the white flag just a few months ago, right before I hosted a large number of people at my house (which is a rarity for me), and I had to send part of dinner to Daddy's house to be cooked. I finished up the rest out of my toaster oven! Of course, Daddy was all too happy to take credit for the dish that he pulled out of his oven.
Then, there's the refrigerator. When I first moved to my little cabin, I enjoyed this bad boy:
Daddy actually remembered me saying once that I liked Rachel Ray's kitchen, and it just so happened he had a friend with a 1950s fridge. It still worked! (most of the time) Then Howard came along, and convinced me to purchase a new refrigerator. The only thing I like more than 1950s kitchen decor, is saving money on my electric bill. (So it wasn't too hard of a sell.)
We've had the new one for three years, or so the good people at Sears tell us, and it's on the fritz again. Sigh. Of course, they were all too happy to sell us a warranty for two more years.
So, has appliance ownership always been this bad, or has quality gone down hill and off a ravine?
Okay, venting over with. I suppose I can now pass GO (and shell out $200 for my fridge).