Appliance Affairs

I love my fridge, toaster and kettle.  It took me a while to get to understand and appreciate the oven, but as I mature into more of an adult, we get along better with every passing year.  These appliances are my family. 

And as for the microwave, well he is like an obnoxious friend who harasses bartenders – I know he is bad for me, but sometimes he cheers me up.

Overall, I’m happy.  But a man needs love.

Most affairs only last a few months. 

I fell in love with a juicer as a kid.  Each afternoon I’d slice and skin and churn and slurp my way through a fruit bowl.  But I didn’t care for cleaning the seventeen different elements and the whole thing got so clogged I needed nineteen oranges for half a cup. Then one day a bit of citric acid seeped into the skin I’d chewed off from beside my finger nail and I decided to end it.  I haven’t seen the juicer since. Now I’m smart enough to pay somebody $6.50 to perform the task for me.

My last affair was with a portable pizza oven.  Every night was like our own little trip to Sicily. I ate little else for two weeks.

I felt things were going well so I invited some people over for a meet and greet. I rolled the dough inside and then passed it out to my friends who created their own master pieces from the bar of sauces, cheeses, meats and roasted vegetables.    The little red oven was a smash hit.   But as I looked out my kitchen window and saw all my friends with their greasy hands all over the oven I had adored so much only a few hours earlier, I knew it wouldn’t work.

We all have appliance affairs, and maybe I’m being cynical in saying that they must come to an end.  I know some people that have had long and rewarding relationships with their toasted sandwich press – but that’s just a bit boring for me.

I guess you have to choose you appliance carefully to avoid disaster.  On the weekend, a bloke at the pub was raving about his snow-cone maker; that is sure to end in tears.