I am woman, hear me roar in frustration and impotence

Our oven has been broken for over a month. We called the place that services our particular oven, and they came out to look at it. Here's what the guy said:

Service Guy: Well, it looks like one of your blah, blahs has gone out, but the good news is that it's under warranty, so it won't cost you anything.

Me: Even though we bought it used?

SG: Yes. We were the last ones to service this oven back in 1995, and it's got a five year warranty, so you're all set.

Me: Uhhhhh. . . huh? Well, okay.

I am easily confused by service people and mechanics. The second someone starts talking to me about something that needs to be fixed, I feel like someone's cast a confundus charm on me. My mind becomes very muddled. Not because I am a woman, but because I don't care about that stuff. And because daltonboy always takes care of everything. Because he's a man.

SG: We'll order the part and get you all taken care of. It should be about a week, as long as it's not back ordered.

Me: Awesome!

The next day.

SG: Your part is back ordered, so it will be a couple of weeks. We'll let you know.

Me: Awesome!

Here's the part where I should have said, "Dude. It's been fifteen years since 1995. Not five. So how much is the part going to cost?" But I didn't say that, because my brain was foggy. I secretly hoped daltonboy might call them, since he knew what the part actually was, and what it actually did. He did not, partly because he has a full time job. Whatever.

So today (a month later) they came to replace the part, and when the oven was all working again, I was presented with a (not entirely unexpected) bill for $300. You have to admit, it's a shrewd way to do business.