My dear sweet oven,
I care for you, honest I do. I am, however, frustrated.
You seem to be rather temperamental. Perhaps if we discuss this for a bit, you can share your feelings and we can work through our differences, and you could work more efficiently. Not that I find your work inefficient, I don't mean to offend.
Let me start by saying that it really is your fault. I am a good cook; ask anyone in the state of Texas. But upon my arrival in this cold place my baked goods have fallen flat. Literally.
At first I blamed the mountains. I declared war, fought some good fights, then realized I would never win in an attack against the earth. Dejected, I had decided I would just give up. Then I visited a friend and baked bread in her oven. It was an instant success.
I had a realization. It was not the mountains, or my cooking, that was causing the failure. It was you, dear oven.
Then you decided to stop opening when you're hot. This is a problem, as half of the times I open your door, you are at a high temperature. The crazy door-opening dance I have resorted to performing only works on occasion, and I would like to request that you stop that crazy nonsense.
Then today, when I went to clean you, you decided that you didn't want to be clean. The self-cleaning function has no intention of coming back to life and after scrubbing your interior for twenty minutes, I called maintenance.
And so, my dear, sweet, oven, I have only one request. Be nice to those kind maintenance men. Hopefully they will return you to your originally fully functional state.
Otherwise, this is war.
That's all.
