I got married almost five years ago and I have an enduring token of my engagement. Oh, I know what you’re thinking, a lovely diamond engagement ring, or maybe, since it was my second marriage, something along the lines of a huge emerald sparkler or a subdued platinum band.
No such frivolities for me. I told my honey that I wanted an oven. A real oven. A six-burner, double-oven, grill-in-the-middle oven. Nothing less than a Thermador. For the price of an engagement ring which I probably wouldn’t wear that much because I’m always up to my elbows in bread dough or paint or Mod Podge, he would get a lifetime of scrumptious meals and a woman happy in her kitchen. I was sick of wimpy electric student-apartment ovens that baked 100 degrees too hot or too cold. I promised him a lifetime of cooking commitment.
What man could resist?
I love my oven. A gas six-burner that makes a satisfying Whoosh sound when I turn on the flames. A double oven that makes Thanksgiving easy, as well as flat skillet built right in that turns out perfect pancakes. But there’s more. Drum roll, please….warming lights and racks. I don’t know how I lived without these before. Feeding crowds is no longer problematic.
I’m not the only one to see value in my Thermador. Thieves like them, too. We were building our new home shortly after we married and a few days after the 600-pound monster oven was installed, it was stolen. This was no thief who just happened on something he could put in his pocket and walk away with. He needed a truck, several strong men and a dolly, and a stealthy plan to get away with hauling out an oven that size with none of the neighbors noticing.
I cried like a woman who’d lost her engagement ring. Luckily, the insurance company replaced it. And you know what? That’s not even the happy ending to the story. This is: My wonderful husband bought me an engagement ring, too.