I can’t turn off the fan above the stove. It’s possessed and I’m not happy about it. Suddenly it decides it will have a mind of its own. I was so angry I took the hammer to it. Seriously, I really did. My son fell out laughing. “Mom’s lost her mind!” I pounded the on/off button several times with the hammer and nothing. I’ve left dents. I don’t care. I finally had to walk away.
But I can’t. I won’t. Walking away from the noise is torture. I won’t be able to sleep knowing the stupid drone of that stupid fan is still on. Only 10 minutes passed and I pound the tiny button again. Nothing. I might as well pluck my hair out strand by strand. Less torture than the drone of that stupid fan.
We need a new one. This one isn’t that old. There is something about this brand. The broiler blew up and caught fire not too long ago. The moment was like being in welding class. Scared me so bad I didn’t know which way to run. It’s only a few years old. Seared the metal right in half. My husband told me I was over exaggerating until he walked into the kitchen, saw all the smoke and then looked at the metal piece, warped and burnt. It looked kind of like a marshmallow held over a campfire. “DAAAAMN” He slowly said. “See? I’m not trippin’!”
I’m obsessed in turning this fan off. If I don’t, I swear it will blow the house up….just like the broiler. The whole house, POOF BE GONE. My husband laughs. It’s not funny. My son asks sarcastically, “what’s going on, mom? You taking the hammer to it? Is that working for you, mom? Hmmm? Is it?” I ignore his remarks. There is a reason why animals eat their young.
I beat the button a few more times. I pour a martini. I won’t sleep with the noise. The fan is on the other side of our bedroom wall. What architect builds a kitchen on the same side as the master bedroom? Our architect. That’s who. Never again!!! I pound the button to change the fan down to level one. It’s not as loud but still noticeable.
I curl up on the couch with my dog and open my tablet. I read the news, look at Pinterest, drink my martini. I can still hear it. I get up and walk into the kitchen. My dog is now annoyed because I won’t stay still.
I pound the button again. 10 minutes later I’m whining and complaining. I fix some hot tea. Relentlessly pounding the button hoping the fan will turn off. My husband walks into the kitchen. “You still trying to get it to turn off?” “It’s suicide!!!! I can’t stand it!!!” I’m totally annoyed now. It is my mission to shut this thing down. Even if it takes me all night. I pop a couple of Tylenol. My head is pounding.
I sit down with my dog again. My husband walks into the kitchen. I can hear him tapping the button then he gives up. He mutters something under his breath. Then walks out to the garage. I hear a beep…then silence. My husband walks back into the living room.
“Did you get it to turn off?” I asked.
“I flipped the breaker.”
Woooow. I spent the last hour pounding the crap out of this thing and he just flips the breaker. Just like that. He couldn’t have thought of this an hour ago? Wait…I couldn’t have thought of this?!?
He laughs while rustling the dog’s ears, “that noise was driving mama CRAZY, yes it was!”
I sit. I glare. I drink my tea.
I let out a sigh. I hate that noise. I hate it. But now there is silence. I will sleep.