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You know your relationship with your oven is complicated when every meal is a game of Russian Roulette. Will it come out perfectly cooked, or will it resemble the burnt offering you'd leave for the kitchen gods? I'm not saying my oven is unreliable, but it's got commitment issues. One day it's cooking everything to perfection, and the next, it's giving me charcoal instead of a casserole. It's like my oven is a moody teenager. I ask for a golden-brown pie crust, and it's like, "No, you get a blackened crust and like it!" I'm just waiting for the day it starts playing emo music while I'm trying to bake cookies – "Nobody understands the heat I generate!
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I recently moved into a new place, and it came with an oven that's like a magician's hat. You put something in, close the door, and when you open it again, half your pots and pans have disappeared. Where do they go? Is there a secret society of kitchenware that only comes out when the oven is on? I've got this theory that there's a portal inside ovens, and every time you bake something, a parallel universe gains a new set of measuring spoons. I can just imagine some alien species on the other side thinking, "Wow, these humans are constantly losing kitchen utensils. They must be an advanced civilization!
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You ever notice how the oven at home becomes this battleground for culinary supremacy? It's like the Hunger Games, but with casseroles. My oven is a drama queen; it thinks it's auditioning for a cooking show every time I preheat it. It's all like, "Look at me, I'm getting hot and steamy!" I'm just trying to bake cookies, not produce a cooking show for the Food Network. And why does the oven always beep at you like you've just won the lottery when it reaches the desired temperature? "Congratulations, you've hit 350 degrees! Here's your reward: more cooking!" Can't it just quietly do its job? I don't need a standing ovation every time I want to make a frozen pizza.
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Have you ever set the timer on your oven and felt like you've entered a time warp? You put something in, set the timer for 30 minutes, and suddenly, it's three hours later. It's like my oven has a TARDIS inside – Time And Recipe Distortion In Space. I set the timer thinking I have all the time in the world, then I blink, and it's like, "Surprise! Your dinner is now charcoal." I'm starting to suspect that ovens have their own sense of time, completely unrelated to the rest of the universe. I just wish mine would stick to the clock on the wall and stop bending the space-time continuum every time I try to make lasagna.
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