A cheeky little engine
December 22, 2006
The pellets for our wood burning stove come in 40lb bags. Only about 30 of those pounds fit into the stove hopper at one time. This means that there is perpetually a bunch of pellets that need to be temporarily stored somewhere. I originally bought a cute black metal bucket-y thing for this purpose.
But I quickly discovered that the little pellets were too fun for digging through, throwing at people, annd squirreling away in jean pockets. So I began the ultra classy look of keeping the bag next to the stove with the top rolled down, unless I am feeling particularly crazy and put the bag inside the metal bucket-y thing.
Last night Rob got home from work at 11:00pm. We were talking for a little while when I noticed the stove had gone out. We decided to fill it back up and then head upstairs to read before we went to sleep. When I opened the stove I noticed it still had pellets in it. Hmmmmmm, I thought, how weird.
So I stuck my hand inside and stirred the pellets around. And what do you know… Thomas the Tank Engine was stuck in the auger.
I pulled Thomas out and had a little chuckle. (I should point out that only I had the chuckle. Rob would like it known that he does not think it was at all amusing and thinks Miles is a spoiled little boy, not a baby, and that I am creating a monster by laughing at everything he does.)
Miles had put the Thomas in the bag of pellets, unbeknownst to me, which I then poured into the stove.
We tried to restart the stove but it wouldn’t work.
So we cleaned it out really really well, using all the vacuum attachments, thinking that this might make it happy. Nope.
So the we did what any “sane” people who fancy themselves handy do. We took the stove apart and stared at the mysterious inner workings and speculated about what could possibly be wrong. In a way that only people with zero knowledge of what they are talking about can do. Then I poked it a few times with a pointy screwdriver.
“Chris, I’m not sure you want to do that.”
“Why? What’s the worst that can happen?”
“Bring it on. At least it will warm me up. All toasty like.”
I was stuck with the task of calling for a repair person. Which meant I was going to have to use the phone, which I loathe. And then I was going to have to answer to Rob if I couldn’t find someone to come out immediately, because he would be certain that I was not friendly enough on the phone.
And so today I am sitting here waiting for a call back from a service person, hoping that they will be able to come soon. Or at least before Christmas. I hope that my offer of a blow-job was nice enough. I periodically rub my hands together in an effort to warm them, though the children seem unaffected and unaware that it is at least 20 degrees colder in the house than normal.
My daughter is splayed across my lap wearing her sleeveless princess dress that she is positive she needs to wear to go see Santa today, and I am even more positive that she does not.
My 9 yr old asked if he should tell Santa to bring us a new stove. Nah, I told him, just ask Santa to bring us a reliable repairman before Christmas. Preferrably a gay one.
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