Two nights ago, I was woken up by a very nasty burning smell in our apartment. When we investigated, it turned out that our oven hadn’t turned off. The dial was off, but it was still as hot as it had been when Josh had used it to cook something a few hours earlier. So obviously we unplugged it.
Had it been gas, I’d have immediately insisted we leave but it and everything else in the house is electric. So we just opened doors and windows and waited for the smell to leave. Today it’s finally clearing out (I should say that yesterday it was only the pregnant woman who noticed the faint scent of charred toast). Of course in the morning I started to worry.
The maintenance guys assured me there’s nothing to worry about – it couldn’t have introduced anything dangerous into the air. They’re right, aren’t they? Anything out of the ordinary only increases my terror that even if my body cooperates this time, something else crazy is going to go wrong. I made the mistake of watching about 5 minutes of Oprah the other day and it was an episode about “household dangers.” I never watch daytime TV and those short minutes told me I shouldn’t start.
The good news, though, is that we’re getting a brand new oven. We were worried we’d have to argue – but Josh told them straight out that we don’t trust that oven now – new dial or not – and it’s not worth the risk. They didn’t even argue and just came to measure and are off to Home Depot. It’ll be my first new oven ever. Even in Israel where you have to buy your own appliances for apartments we simply bought the old one off the old tenants and then sold it to the new tenants. I have grand fantasies of setting the temp to 375 and trusting it’s at least closer to that than 450. And of setting a teapot on a burner that heats up every inch of coil and doesn’t tip slightly to the left. I hope I won’t be disappointed.