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The first Christmas after we got married, (I was eighteen) my husband gave me a kitchen stove. I had complained in passing about our stove being a gas stove, and I had grown up always using an electric stove. So Christmas morning at my Dad's house I open up this box, and there is a toy stove (clever, I'll admit) with a note that a real one would be delivered the next day. I know he was trying to give me something that I wanted, and it was certainly not in any wa a cheapskate gift, BUT . . .
We lived in a small rented apartment, and a regrigerator and stove were furnished by the landlord. Over the next three years, we moved three times, each time having to explain to a landlord that we needed a refrigerator, but could they please remove the stove from the kitchen, we had our own. When we got divorced I moved out and told hime he could keep the ****ing stove. But it wasn't over yet. Three years later, after I was living a hundred miles away, I got a call from my Dad that the stove had mysteriously appeared on his front porch.
Lindy
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