I might as well admit it right now: I often find myself talking to my microwave. And in none-too-friendly tones, either.
Let’s review: a microwave oven is a machine, right? You set it for a certain amount of time, it does its thing, and then it beeps to let you know it’s finished. The really helpful ones continue to show the word “DONE” or something to remind you that you have something in there that has been heated up, in case you wander off and forget about it even before the 45 seconds is up, not that I’d ever do that… Fine. That’s how it’s supposed to work.
But not MY microwave. Nooooooo. Mine wants to be friends, too. Now, I prefer to maintain a certain professional distance between myself and my appliances: you know, let’s just keep all our transactions on a business footing. It’s more efficient that way. But this particular model thinks it has to strike up a conversation every time.
Sometimes it isn’t so bad. For instance, let’s say I want to steam some broccoli to go with a delicious pasta casserole. I just pour the frozen florets into my plastic micro steamer, snap on the perforated lid, and pop it into the microwave for two minutes while I set the table. Micro energizes and starts to spin, humming a monotonous little tune, then beeps three or four times and stops. “END,” says the little LCD display. Dinner is ready. I set out the casserole, then release Micro’s door latch to pull out the steamer. “ENJOY … YOUR … MEAL…” say the scrolling letters, just before switching back to the time of day.
“Thanks,” I say.
But Micro has a limited sense of appropriateness. Sometimes he oversteps his boundaries. Like when I am reheating my coffee for the third time. Fifteen seconds, aaaaaand… “ENJOY … YOUR … MEAL.”
“Quiet. It isn’t a meal,” I reply. “It’s half a cup of coffee.”
Or worse, there’s the sticky spill, or the rare occasion when one of the dogs has done something unspeakable like barf on the carpet, and I need a hot wet rag in a hurry. Rather than wait for hot tap water, I just whip a rag out from under the kitchen sink, wet it down and toss it into Micro’s cargo bay. Twenty seconds later, I punch the door release, ready to tackle the dirty job. “ENJOY … YOUR … MEAL.”
Okay, now I’m just perturbed. “I am not gonna eat that!”
Micro is only getting bossier. No matter what I’m doing–reheating tea, melting two tablespoons of butter, warming a towel–Micro butts in and orders me to ENJOY … MY … MEAL. I kid you not, I have started punching the “OFF” button before opening the door, just to shut him up.
It’s a good thing I came up with a solution, because now it seems I have another uppity appliance on my hands. Yesterday my washing machine walked halfway across the laundry room during the spin cycle…
Thanks for reading!
PS: You probably don’t talk to your appliances, but some of you already know I talk to random animals too, so don’t judge.
PPS: Yikes, I almost forgot — I’m linking up with Rachel Anne and my Company Girls friends today! Go see what everyone is up to this week… some are no more ready for Christmas than I am.