It all started with the microwave. To be more precise, microwave #4. When Jason and I got married nearly seventeen years ago, we’d inherited his grandmother’s microwave. This was microwave #1, and it was a beast of black plastic and chrome. Sturdy, long-lasting, and efficient, it faithfully warmed our leftovers and made them palatable once more, saving me both time and dirty dishes. I’d never met a trustier food-zapping cube. Who cares if it took up an acre of counterspace; it did its job well, and I enjoyed the convenience. But after several years of use, Jason’s grandmother’s microwave bit the dust, and we “needed” to find a replacement.