Sort of free stuff

One of the benefits of living close to my family is the Mooch Factor. Case in point: my parents are in the process of remodeling their kitchen. As a result, I get to replace my electric stove with the much newer stove my parents would have otherwise thrown out.

Although we benefit from this largesse, the free appliances do come at a price. That price: convincing my mom the eternal optimist that we do, in fact, want her old stove. For some reason, whenever my mom gives me something used, she does her best to convince me that I don’t want it, even if it is leaps and bounds better than what I currently have. I don’t think she realizes that she does this. Well, she will now. (Hi, Mom!)

Anyway, this involves phone conversations like the following*:

Me: Thanks again for giving us your old stove. That’s really great.

Mom: You don’t want our stove.

Me: What? Why not? Yes we do.

Mom: No, it’s old. It’s older than your stove I think.

Me: Mom, come on. Our stove is so old the clock has flip analog numbers. It’s at least thirty-five years old.

Mom: No, it’s not.

Me: Okay, let me remind you that I actually live in this house, and I am staring at the stove at this very moment, and I can say in no uncertain terms that this stove is at least as old as me.

Mom: Well, ours is old too. Look, look, I have the manual right here. See, it says it was made in 1996.

Me: (pause)

Mom: Okay, it’s newer, but I’m not going to have a chance to clean it before you come get it.

Me: It’s called Easy-off, mom. I’ll do it in our driveway before we bring it into the house.

Mom: But how are you going to get it into your kitchen? You’ll have to move your fridge.

Me: You’re right, mom, moving my fridge is too high a price to pay to get a much newer, more efficient stove.

Mom (getting desperate now): But it’s yellow.

You get the idea.

Anyway, last night, after yet another conversation where my mother tried to convince me I didn’t want a free stove, I got the last laugh. Because minutes after hanging up, I went to broil a piece of bread, and an explosion of sparks and Frankenstein/Jacob’s Ladder-type noises came from the heating coil when I opened the door. This development has considerably speeded up the process. I figure I’ll be cooking on our new used stove by Friday. Woo-hoo! Digital timer, here I come! In your face, flip-clock!

*I would like to stress that although this is not a verbatim transcript, these are all arguments actually made in the case of Mom vs. 1973 EZ Self-Cleaning Hotpoint.