Moo Yah Treats
Handcrafted Fudge

It started with the oven.

Annette had been filling Treat Tray orders, and the day had turned into one of those long

production runs where the kitchen simply had to keep moving. The range oven had been asked to

stay on for nearly ten hours. It wasn’t an unreasonable request. There were things to bake, orders

to fill, and a business to keep running.

Eventually, however, Annette noticed something wasn’t right. The baked goods weren’t cooking

properly. She checked the temperature. She watched the oven. She checked again. After that

many continuous hours, she suspected the heating element might simply be getting stressed.

Perhaps it was becoming wobbly.

Or perhaps the oven was simply tired of being asked to work that hard.

Annette looked at it.

“My damned oven has become a diva.”

That was when things took a turn.

The oven, of course, said nothing. But once Annette said it out loud, the possibility became

difficult to ignore. If the oven was a diva, then perhaps the problem wasn’t mechanical at all.

Perhaps she had stumbled into a much larger issue.

Because Annette had spent a great deal of time working on the House by then, and she had

begun to notice something peculiar: almost everything in the House seemed to have an opinion.

The oven had apparently developed boundaries. The refrigerator had never complained about

anything in its entire existence and was becoming increasingly self-righteous about it. The

dishwasher’s grievance was entirely different: it didn’t feel as though it was fulfilling its intended

purpose.

And then there was the double-stack oven.

The double-stack oven did not even live in the kitchen. For reasons known only to whoever had

designed the House, there was a perfectly suitable 220-volt outlet in the laundry room—a question

Annette had long since decided was not worth pursuing. The double-stack oven seemed perfectly

content with the arrangement, possessing the quiet dignity of an English gentleman who saw no

reason to make a production of things.

Annette, meanwhile, was beginning to feel less like a homeowner and more like a diplomat. At

this rate, she was probably ready for the United Nations.The problem was that diplomacy required an agreement. And so Annette decided that the only

reasonable solution was an accord.

She did not expect the appliances to take the matter quite so seriously.

One minute she was dealing with an attitude-heavy range. The next, she found herself being

called into a meeting presided over by an attorney.

She entered cautiously. The range oven was there. The refrigerator hummed with the quiet

confidence of an appliance that had never once complained. The dishwasher looked as though it

had been waiting for someone to finally listen. And the double-stack oven had apparently come

down from the laundry room for the occasion, looking entirely untroubled.

The attorney looked at Annette. “Thank you for coming.”

Annette looked around the room. “I was told this was a meeting about my appliances.”

“It is. We’re here to establish reasonable expectations between the appliances and their

owner.”

Annette looked at the range oven. The range oven looked back.

“I need them to do their jobs,” Annette said.

The attorney nodded. “A reasonable expectation.”

“And I need them to tell me when something is wrong.”

Another note. “Also reasonable.”

The attorney glanced down. “The refrigerator would like it noted that he has never

complained.”

Annette stared at the refrigerator. “Of course he hasn’t.”

The refrigerator hummed smugly.

The attorney turned his attention downward. “I believe the dishwasher has a statement. It

doesn’t feel that it is fulfilling its intended purpose.”

Annette frowned. “But I don’t overload you. I load you properly. I even clean the filter.”

A small click of acknowledgment from the dishwasher.

“Well then. We have established that this is not a workload issue.” The dishwasher seemed

satisfied.

The range oven beeped.

“I would like to point out,” said the attorney, “that the range oven believes her working

conditions have been unreasonable.”

Annette folded her arms. “You were asked to stay on for ten hours.”A beep.

“Yes, I know.”

Another beep.

“You’re an oven.”

Beep.

Annette looked at the attorney. “Is she finished?”

The attorney checked his notes. “Apparently not.”

Annette sighed. This was going to require something formal.

The double-stack oven cleared his metaphorical throat. Everyone became quiet. He had the

calm, measured manner of an English gentleman who had seen considerably more nonsense than

this.

“I believe,” he said, “that we are making this unnecessarily complicated. Each appliance has a

purpose. The human has expectations. The appliances have limitations. The human has

responsibilities. Perhaps an agreement would be useful.”

And so the Appliance Accord was drafted.

The appliances agreed to perform their duties to the best of their abilities. Annette agreed to

use them properly and to pay attention when they indicated trouble. The range oven was granted

reasonable working conditions. The refrigerator received formal recognition for never complaining

(largely self-nominated). The dishwasher was assured of its purpose. And the double-stack oven

was permitted to remain in the laundry room, blissfully several rooms away from the kitchen.

The meeting appeared to be over. Annette relaxed.

Then the range oven beeped. Once.

The dishwasher clicked. The refrigerator hummed. The double-stack oven sighed.

Annette looked at the attorney. “Is there something else?”

The attorney checked his notes. “I believe the appliances would like to retain counsel on an

ongoing basis.”

Annette closed her eyes. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

She opened them, looking from the diva oven to the smug fridge, and finally toward the

double-stack gentleman who remained completely unbothered.

“I have spent years working on this House,” Annette said. “Repaired things. Rebuilt things.

Figured out things that had no business being this complicated. And now I’m negotiating an

appliance treaty.”The double-stack oven considered this. “Quite.”

He added, very quietly: “You do seem to have the necessary experience.”

And that, as far as anyone can determine, was the beginning of the Appliance Accord.

The appliances still have their opinions. Annette still has hers. The refrigerator still doesn’t

complain. The dishwasher still wants to fulfill its purpose. The diva oven occasionally reminds

everyone of her boundaries. And the English gentleman continues to reside in the laundry room

without the slightest concern.

The Accord remains in effect.

At least, that’s what Annette has been told. She has learned not to ask who is responsible for

enforcing it.

There is apparently counsel for that.