During the snowstorm last Friday, Amelia and I discovered that our oven was broken when I tried to make dinner and the apartment began to smell like gas.
We called our landlord and let him know that our pilot light had gone out. Determined to fix our problem and armed with a lighter in his hand, he began tinkering with the oven. Sadly, it was no use. The igniter was broken and he would send a repair guy on Monday.
Alas, we have a cookie exchange to go to on Monday evening and needed to use our oven to prepare for the festivities. The most logical solution to our problem was to ask our landlord if we could use his oven (he lives in our building). When he informed us that he had plans, Amelia and I began our quest to find an oven by calling all of our closest friends within a five mile radius of our apartment.
When we found our oven (available at 10, Thanks Bo!), Amelia and I set forth to start baking only to have our plans foiled once again. We did our grocery shopping by memory and remembered everything except for the vanilla.
It was getting late so we ruled our baking extravaganza a lost cause (I'm sorry Bunny, we tried!).
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