unhandyman

(disclaimer) That title sounds a lot more derogatory than it's meant to be.

Last Thursday, I killed the microwave. Decimated it, even. Actually, I just burned four chicken nuggets in it, so black they were unrecognizable as having ever been a food product. The smell was impossible to get rid of, so we decided it was time for a new microwave. One that fits above the stove, so we could have more counter space. We've been looking at that type for a few years now, but it never seemed the right time to buy one. So on Sunday we plunked down the cash at Best Buy and brought one of them home with us.

It's been sitting near our front door in its nice large box ever since. Tonight, my dear husband (I need to come up with some kind of bloggish name for him, I guess, but there's not one floating in my head yet so it'll have to wait till I'm a bit more awake) decided that he was going to do the "preliminary work" on getting it installed.

Two hours later, he informs me that there are several minor obstacles to said installation, and one major obstacle. The minor obstacles involve purchasing pieces of wood and mounting them under the lip of our cabinetry and along the back wall where the tile does not extend to the bottom of the cabinet. The major one? Umm, installing an electrical outlet in the back of the cabinet.

He thinks he can get all this done on Saturday by 4:30, in time for us to keep the commitment we have for that evening.

My response? Probably very un-wifely of me, but I suggested that we hire a handyman. Ouch.