Note to Self-Cleaning Oven

You should know how much you hurt me, oven.
Sure, I may have forgotten that you need four hours to clean, that it's entirely too hot outside to open windows, and that your fumes make my eyeballs want to jump out.

But you really shouldn't tempt me with your easy cleaning option when I'm staring down a pork chop spill.

   

Happier times: the day you moved in.

Hiding in the bedroom didn't work. Teen Wolf isn't the same with my eyes closed, oven! We tried to flee to our friends' yogurt shop, but to our horror, our friend was actually there. I prefer not to answer questions when I'm a puffy-eyed crying mess. We came home and tried to hang in the yard with our dogs, our laptops, and a bottle of wine. The dogs got confused about our impromptu patio party and starting barking their heads off at 10pm, so back into the fumes we went. We eventually went to sleep, but the house still reeked when we woke up this morning.

I'm afraid to say it, but I think we need a bit of a break. You're awesome, but I just can't handle the drama in my life right now. Maybe we can try again in the winter.