Nah. Mostly I was excited that it is perfectly clean. And I didn't have to clean it. Not that that is high on my priority list or anything. Kind of like how we used to feel about pristine school supplies on the first day of school. Untouched perfect crayons and crisp smooth sheets of paper, just waiting for the magic to happen. So much hope, so much anticipation... Then reality sets in. Just for a day, this stove is a little magical. Reality will return soon.
I'm not an enthusiastic cook, but fairly competent. No complaints around here, I live in a house with gentlemen.
Besides, they know if they complain, I will go on strike and they will go hungry. (Not true,
my hubs is the kind of man who can do practically anything.) I was talking to my sister about this culinary gene that I seem to be missing in a family of people who just love to cook. Dad, sister, brother... in laws... They think about it, plan it all out, shop, prepare, cook, devour with gusto and immediately after, with great relish and anticipation, begin planning the next meal. Ugh. Give me a bowl of cereal, and I am happy.
Then my sister reminded me that our mom did not particularly like to cook. I had forgotten. She was left handed like me too. Maybe it
is in the genes. Aren't you a lefty?