A few years back, I found out that my grandmother and modern kitchen technology don't mix.

At Grandama's house, the rules of cooking change. You want to drink tea? You light a hotplate and boil the kettle on the gas stove. You want toast? The aforementioned stove's built-in grill is your one and only option. No electric kettle or toasters in sight. She doesn't understand these new fangled things, or these "new age" problems.

Now, Grandma's not one for these new gizmos. But, finally, after all these years of her ignorant bliss, you could imagine our surprise as Grandma decided to leave her safety zone and ask us to bring.... The microwave oven!

But, of course, there is reasoning behind the entrance into a new frontier. The big family Christmas celebration was on again - 20 plus people and one very small house. Grandma's house. Each and every year she runs about, and (with help) organises a feast for all. Grandma needs some food warm and fast, and she's heard a lot about the magnificent microwave oven! So we bring the magic box around.

So there we are, lugging this microwave into a suburban cottage, dodging thousands of screaming grandchildren/nephews/nieces/cousins. After navigating the maze, we plug it in, and Dad gives Grandma a crash course in the art of the Microwave. "This button opens the door...." "Door?" She quickly shoos Dad off; "Mother knows best."

Ten minutes later and Dad decides that's a bit long for heating apple sauce, and goes to check how Grandma is faring in the space age. What he finds is someone not yet senile watching the tray of an empty microwave spin round and round and round...

Puzzled by now, Dad had to inquire of Grandma just what it was she was doing. Just as puzzled by such an "odd" question, Grandma replies:

"What do you think I'm doing?"

"I'm preheating the microwave!"

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