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Volume 1 #6 August 9, 1999
This column is titled: "The War Between My Significant Other and Appliances". Not WWIII but it comes painfully close. This man needs to get a doctorate in "How to purchase an ordinary household appliance". On second thought, I don't think that would do it. Maybe, "Appliance Therapy". Why not? They have pet psychiatrists. I cannot count how many toasters we've been associated with. I feel such sorrow for the poor things. My father, several years (and condemned toasters) ago, gave us this nifty four slicer as a Christmas gift. Well, at first, I will admit it was a bit cantankerous. Maybe it felt the presence of the "Appliance Terminator"! I finally got him (the toaster, not my significant other) trained. I approached my four slicer and said: "Look, dude, I clean you 'til you sparkle. Think how many slinky melbas you could attract on the "Free Butter for Ladies" appliance night? (You must think I am quite daft because I engage in conversation with my toaster.) Somehow, it works. So, the little guy and I were getting along quite nicely. I'd set the gauge at the required doneness for my purposes. He would lower the bread congenially. There was one teeny, tiny hitch. I had to reverse the bread in order to obtain my desired results. At last, I was "one with my appliance". Until that disastrous afternoon!! The Terminator said: "Let me help you, honey." And, before I could shatter bullet proof glass with my ultimate "Beatles Scream", he turned the bread around. My cultivated rapport with my dude was decimated! Not to mention the "one with the Appliance Terminator". (At this juncture, I should say: "Anyone who wants their kitchen painted blue. Please notify me." The Terminator, in one fell swoop, had ruined my waffle mate! My little dude did not have the will to heat his coils. He could not perform his toastly duties. But, I gave him a great eulogy. I am too choked up on left over crumbs to relate it. He went to that great Appliance City in the Sky. Along with the myriad of close kin; can openers, dishwashers etc., who were other victims of the Terminator. He landed with his predecessors in the dumpster. Poor thing. Sniff... sniff. Unfortunately, there is a new terror on the horizon. My significant other is embarking on Safari for, not only a poor defenseless toaster. But a washer and dryer!! He's invited me along. I can't face it. I'm still in mourning. I don't want to know the gory consequences. I don't think I'll ever enter my kitchen again.

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©1999 Carol Ann Carson
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