Self-Cleaning Oven?

My oven claimed to be self-cleaning.  It’s also very demanding.  I bought the special cleaner it requested.  I did the preheating thing, too.  At this point, I am beginning to question “self” cleaning.  I went to the store, I purchased the cleaner, AND I warmed the darn thing up.  But, it was all going to be worth it.  The second those magic hands unfolded from the interior sides and commenced cleaning, my trip to the store would have simply been chalked up to a minor inconvenience.  

But the hands did not appear.  Maybe they could sense me watching?  Fair enough, I don’t like it when “people” watch me clean, either.  (Note: people= Him & The Kid.  Two people who are fascinated with WATCHING me clean.)

The laundry certainly was not going to clean itself, so off I went.  While gathering up the clothes, I noticed a burning smell.  As I headed downstairs, it became stronger.  Had I left something in the oven by mistake?  I opened it to check.  (Hint: NEVER do this.)   Smoke poured out, into my eyes, the kitchen, the house, and perhaps, the world.  (Sorry, Al, I may be contributing to global warming?) 

I’m thinking, “With all this smoke, there MUST be fire.  But, I can’t see.  I am blinded by the blasting of hot smoke directly into my corneas.  I scream for Him.  He comes, reluctantly.  Seeing the smoke, Him immediately asks, “What were you cooking?”  Rookie mistake, hon.  I yell something along the lines of nothing-for-the-next-month-you-SOB as I run to the bathroom to put a cold rag on my eye sockets, because, clearly, my eyeballs have been BURNED OUT OF MY SKULL. 

I return to my kitchen approximately a half hour later; with my sight.  Him is nowhere to be found.  Wise decision after his earlier remarks.  The kitchen is still standing.  I shield my eyes as I attempt to open the oven, yet again.  What do I find?  The pricey cleaner my oven just had to have has literally been burnt onto the oven.  The entire oven has a charcoal color film — where are the magic hands?

As I ponder that thought, my mother-in-law calls.  I relay my tragic experience to her.  She supports my not cooking for a month.  Turns out the father-in-law once faked food poisoning and she refused to cook for the remainder of the year.

Back to the lying oven; it’s not suitable for cooking, maybe ever.  Professionals will have to be summonsed.