So on Sunday night, I come home from my stage managing gig and I’m like ‘Hmm, what’s that funny smell? Now I live in an old building with fourteen other units, so there are sometimes odd smells about the place, but this one…smelled like GAS. Dun, dun, dunnnn… So I called the gas company, packaged up my two cats, and went and sat in my car. In the snow. For an hour. When the guy from the gas co shows up (he couldn’t have been nicer, btw), it turns out that there’s a leak in my oven – something like the knob doesn’t turn all the way off. So he turns off my gas. I call my landlord the next day – to be fair, they came in that same day and looked at the stove.
Short story shorter…they’re going to have to replace the stove. Cut to: Thursday – I am longing for a grilled cheese sandwich, but have to settle for waffles.
Not that waffles are settling, mind you, and I would totally run away with my super-duper, professional grade waffle iron if it were legal to marry an appliance, but I really, reeeeaallly want a grilled cheese sandwich.
Or an egg over-easy.
But alas, no stove.