Cindy (or as we were introduced to her, Cynthia – and she definitely had the air of a Cynthia) was the owner of our new home. 

So Cindy left us her microwave.  (Fair enough, because of this, we left our old microwave in San Jose).

There is no mystery as to why Cindy decided to not keep her microwave.  It is old and I’m pretty sure it works by having a gnome (or other diminutive fictional creature) with a pack of matches inside desperately trying to heat whatever has been put into the heating area. 

Well, shortly after we moved in, the microwave decided to go “snap, spark, and smoke”.  Yikes.  Also leaving us with lukewarm alfredo chicken broccoli pasta dinner (er – yum?) and no microwave. 

Fuck.

Clearly, I was not a huge fan of this microwave anyhow. 

But we needed a replacement ASAP because the main use of our microwave is heating left over coffee, and that is a necessity of life that we are not willing to forego.

So we measured the height between the cabinets and the counter and off I go to Best Buy where I find a highly satisfactory replacement for the ex-microwave.

Imagine my horror (or at least deep disappointment) when the new microwave failed to fit under the cabinets.

Fuck.

But wait, we measured the cabinets to the right of the range – and we were trying to put the microwave under the cabinets to the left of the range (where the deceased microwave resided). 

No.  Surely not.

Yup.  Sure as shit.  The space between the cabinets and the counter are slightly different on either side of the range. 

WTF?

So now the new microwave is to the right of the range, where there is approximately ½ inch more room.

And we have hot coffee on demand.

All’s well that ends well.