It began with the barbecue.
Remember how outdoor barbecues used to be? Little more than an upturned hubcap teetering on three skinny metal legs.
You piled in the charcoal briquets, added a pint of charcoal lighter, tossed in a match and waited for the "waoompphh!"
After the coals burned down, you threw on the meat, trying hard not to flick the remnants of your eyebrows onto dinner.
And then one day barbecues starting showing up with hoods. Next came a revolving spit with motor, perfect for impaling small chickens that quickly burned on the outside but remained resolutely raw on the inside.
Next, we abandoned the briquets in favor of gas. Before long, gas barbecues became chromed wonders the size of Volkswagens. All that was missing was the steering wheel.
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So is it any wonder that household appliances would soon join the same sort of macho makeover? We're talking stoves with eight burners and knobs the size of a man's fist.
Tell me, who do you know who cooks on all eight burners at once? In Tucson? In the summertime, which means April through October?
Next came the stainless-steel refrigerator, outfitted with so many doors and drawers you weren't sure if you were accessing the icemaker or the butter keeper.
And don't forget to put on those white cotton gloves before opening. Wouldn't want fingerprints on the stainless, after all, though at $11,000 — which is the price tag for one brand of these behemoths — you'd think it would come with its own serf.
Finally came washing machines and dryers that look like something out of an old "Terminator" movie.
I halfway expect Arnold Schwarzenegger to crawl out of one of these dryers, spotless and unwrinkled, of course, thanks to the dryer's new steam feature.
Who needs a sauna?
Scarier than the looks of these monsters are the price tags: $1,200. Each. (Optional stacking kit sold separately.)
For that price, they should come with a steering wheel, and maybe a global positioning system. Instead, we get a washer with a sensor that automatically adjusts the detergent and water hardness for "optimal cleaning."
Hey, I've got another sensor: my eyeballs. As in: Open washing machine lid while the machine is agitating. If you don't see soap suds, add some more detergent.
The more complicated these appliances become, the more likely they're going to have some sort of electronic meltdown.
I live in fear of the day I hit the wrong buttons on my wall oven. For it has something called the Sabbath mode.
Designed for Jews wishing to observe Sabbath and holiday laws, an oven in Sabbath mode will not shut off automatically after 12 hours.
This allows observant Jews to keep food warm (140 degrees or more is considered safe) on the Sabbath or holidays — days when they are not allowed to turn an oven on or off.
Observant Jews also are not allowed to change oven temperatures on the Sabbath but can do so on Jewish holidays. However, they cannot change any digital readouts on the control panel. So ovens in Sabbath mode also eliminate all timer beeps and do not show time, temperature or other oven functions.
Sabbath mode is a wonderful feature for those who need it, and I cast no aspersions on them or their religion.
On the other hand, I can just see myself somehow activating Sabbath mode on my oven — and never being able to exit.
It just might be easier to convert.