The Married Life

(OR)

Lynx and Oven-Shopping Don't Mix
By: CyberCat

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CHAPTER ONE: BAKING CHICKEN IS NOT CHILD'S PLAY

                "Stupid contraption...," Harle muttered, fiddling with the dials on the cooking mechanism that had made its debut in Chronopolis: the oven. She had went out and bought one, and it had served her well...for awhile. It had been two years since she had purchased the large steel box, and now, it was waning on her.

                DING was the sound as the tiny orange light lit up, signaling that baking was at an end. Harle sighed in relief and opened the cooking machine's door, reaching inside with her small, oven-mitt-clad hand to retrieve the chicken she had been baking.

                "AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGHHHHH!!!"

                What she procured from the oven was not a chicken, or, at least, it didn't look like one. What it looked like was a blackened, slightly sculpted pile of coral or soft rock. Or maybe it looked like a lump of extremely dirty clothes. Or a very dark, very large pile of manure. But the one thing it didn't look like was chicken.

                With another exasperated yell, Harle swung her arm back and threw the eating material (?) against the wall with as much force as she could. The black projectile exploded in a squelch of overdone food, leaving a large, slimy, brown mark on the metal wall, its excess dripping onto the floor.

                Harle clenched her fists at her sides, seething with anger and standing straight and silent as a ramrod in the middle of her kitchen. For as long as she could remember, she had been a rather patient woman. But now, her patience was wearing thin.

                But when she found herself in front of the oven, her patience wore out. "STUPID MACHINE!!!" Harle screamed, accenting every word she uttered with a sharp kick to the contraption's metallic surface, "YOU ARE NUZZING BUT A NUISANCE!!!"

                As if on cue, the oven emitted a belch of thick, black smoke, then promptly blew up.

                For a few minutes the little harlequin just stood there, wondering about a few different things: Did I deserve zat? Do I need a new oven? Why did eet blow up? Do I really care to know?

                After a few more minutes of contemplating, Harle decided upon something. "LYNX!!!" she called as loudly as she possibly could, "LYNX!!!"

                In a flash her husband (wearing only a pair of black pants and in his Dark Serge form, no less) was there, his weapon drawn. "Harle, what's wrong?!? I heard you screaming and..." He trailed off about there, finally observing the razed oven. "Harle, is this what you called me in here for?"

                "Oui, Lynx, Dear," she purred, "zat eees exactly why."

                He stared blankly at her, and the pleasant smile washed off her face.

                "I need you to buy me anuzzer oven," she said flatly, "and a good one, at zat. A bettere oven zen ze one I used to 'ave."

                Again he stared, then slowly shook his head. "Harle, why is it not possible just to cook things the old fashioned way? You were always so good at that, and---"

                "No, Lynx," she interrupted firmly, "I want a new oven. An' you will get eet for moi or get your derriere kicked onto ze couch tonight! Any further questions, n'cest pa?"

                He stared, again.

                "Lynx, are you hearing me? I zaid to go get me anuzzer oven! Now hurry up!"

                Slowly, sullenly, Lynx nodded. "Alright. Allow me to go get dressed."

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                Well...Reveiw and I'll put up the next chapter. Heh.