The Admiral and Princesses are out of town, and because the dog refuses to cook, and because I hate to, the microwave oven and I have become very good friends. We have always been on speaking terms, but this absence of those proficient in the culinary arts has solidified our relationship.

My column about being alone, elicited an email saying I was spoiled and had been pampered too long; true. Another said I should avoid frozen meals and cook for myself because it is better for me. Also true, but neither is going to happen.

I read the labels on my frozen fare. They say things like “made with real meat” (I would like to try one made from fake meat) or, “meets USDA requirements …” The government is involved in my dinner. I feel so protected.

Take a stroll down the frozen food aisle and see how many meals there are. Half of America must be living on this stuff. They can’t be all that bad for you, can they? The nice thing is that they are all microwaveable!

I am not microwaving everything. The high frequency radio waves will not pour my cereal and milk into a bowl. I am forced to do it myself, causing me to cover the face of the machine with a towel to keep from looking at the hurt expression on its key pad.

I had some “alone” guys over for the Fourth of July, and we did the other man cooking thing, we grilled steaks. I wasn’t worried about hurting the microwave’s feelings. The potatoes, beans and corn were reheated, or cooked anew in my friend the microwave. I could have used two.

I have been thinking of putting one in every room of the house. Imagine what a time saver a microwave sitting on the bathroom counter would be. You could heat your morning drink and cook breakfast while shaving, or doing your makeup.

One in the bedroom would have been handy when the children were babies. I could have put the already prepared formula into the microwave on my night stand, pop the warmed up bottle into the little one’s screaming maw, roll over and go back to sleep.

Having one in the Princesses’ rooms could have its drawbacks. Can you imagine waking to the sound and smell of popping corn in the middle of the night? Never fear, just put in your own packet and pop away. I’m certain your spouse would be delighted with popcorn at 3 a.m., but the kernels, hulls, butter and salt in the bed clothes could be a point for contention.

One in the living room/den is obvious. Why walk the 20 steps to the kitchen and take a chance on missing a Super Bowl commercial?

I envision one in the garage, the shop, the garden, on the porch, one down the driveway in case I’m running late and need to heat a frozen meal on the way. I can adapt one to the tractor so that I can heat and eat my lunch and never stop mowing. How about one for the emergency generator? If I can generate electricity, I can cook. The possibilities are endless.

The ovens have gotten so inexpensive that furnishing your home in wall-to-wall microwaves is plausible. I bet you can get them even cheaper by buying in bulk. The Admiral will be so pleased. I think I’ll microwave something for them when they get home.

David Wilson Atwood is a local writer whose human interest columns offer a unique perspective. He may be contacted, and his other works viewed at: www.starchasers.us, or david@starchasers.us.