The Avocado-Oven Club

I love our apartment, but there are parts of it that are vaguely reminiscent straight out of the 50's. Exhibit A: our stove. Our stove prompted the beginning of a club called the "avocado-oven club", because the colour looks like someone fed a bag of avocados to a dog, then the dog pooped them out, then a designer saw the poop and said "hey, this would be a smashing good colour for a stove, dontcha think?" Keep in mind this all happened in the 1950's so it's not like it's part stainless steel with a funky avocado trim. Our other good friends have the same 50's stove, so the four of us are the reluctant members of the avocado-oven club.

Last Friday, after an eleven-hour day at work, my darling fiance came home with a frozen pizza the size of an elephant's head. All he wanted was to eat it, and to eat it now. I was on board. Nothing starts off a lazy weekend of binge-drinking like a frozen pizza that you bought on sale. But to our horror, the oven wouldn't heat up. That avocado-coloured sonofabitch chose the one night that we not just desperately wanted a frozen pizza, we freaking needed this thing. I was no help, of course. I draped myself across the couch, sighing with utter melodrama at the tragedy that had befallen us while Luc broke the frozen pizza into pieces and started cooking it in the toaster oven. Yes, in the end, we got our pizza, but a week later something even more sensational than pizza on a Friday night happened.

Actually, it happened this morning. Our landlord arrived at the door with the best Christmas present I'll get this year (unless I get a hardcover Oxford English Dictionary...seriously), a new oven!! A non-avocado oven! See below, as it sits in our kitchen in all its non-avocado glory.























To celebrate, I'm going to bake a lasagna. I've never made a lasagna before so this should be fun. First though, I have to devise a plan to destroy the yellow countertops so that it's not actually my fault wherein we have to pay for new ones, but so that they're so incredibly damaged that we need new ones. I know, it's never going to happen, but is it wrong to dream of a world where mustard-yellow and avocado-poop-green aren't the main players in my kitchen's colour palette?