Up In My Grill

Of all my worldly possessions, I would place my gas grill as the 17th most important item I own --- even higher than my electric toothbrush. I use this flame-spitting beast at least three times a week, usually to burn chicken. Since I've had it four years, this kind of regular use tends to stress the insides of my grill. And last week, the grill completely gave up. It had been flame blasted so many times that it disintegrated. The lid was completely baked and the flame shield had split in half. So on Sunday about 5 p.m. while hungry, I make a snap decision to go to Target to buy a new grill. This transaction could not have taken more that 30 minutes including completing the sale and getting the new boxed up grill home. I figure I can have the new grill together in about an hour. Um, no. About 8 p.m., I am fucking starving and the grill isn't even 1/3rd of the way assembled. It has at least 60 parts to assemble, all held together by 100 bolts and wing nuts. I order out. Monday night, I complete the second 1/3rd of the grill. And Tuesday the grill that was supposed to feed me on Sunday was finished.

Lesson learned? Never buy a grill when it's dinner time.