Last weekend, after a long and involved process involving approximately twenty-five minutes of deep consideration and 260 miles worth of gas, we brought into our fold yet another addition to the pantheon of Household Gods that Live in Our Kitchen.
We call him "Woody". He is, clearly, a woodstove.
Although he is not the pellet stove we really have our hearts set on, we do feel comfortable that Woody, with his tiny and adorable metal feet, shiny accents, and particular brand of self-deprecating humor, will fit in comfortably with our other Household Gods:
Fridgey, with his stoicism, a matter-of-factness that hides a charming humility, and general ability to provide the household with edible and relatively sanitary food items;
Stovey, our sharp-dressing, genuine "Nice Guy" appliance who can be simultaneously the life-of-the-party and the guy-who-gets-it-all-done and also cooks a mean apricot-cherry-glazed pork tenderloin.
El Coffee Makero, with his devil-may-care attitude and sense of wicked fun who keeps us good and jittery all day long if that’s what we request.
And, of course, sensual little Ilsa:
In conclusion, we're very excited about our new heat-source and feel that Woody, with his charming personality and Victorian-Parlour-Chic good looks, can prevent us from sending eight million dollars to Southwest Gas every month this winter and would also make an excellent president.
But we don't trust him around Ilsa.