Hello, Lovelies. Anna here for but a moment, because today we get a blog entry from Melva. She and I first met in a writing group where we all wrote to prompts for a certain amount of time, then whoever wanted to share what they wrote could read it aloud to the group. Melva still attends one of those groups and wanted to share the product of one of her sessions.
–Anna
Heated Arguments
All right, I told myself, it’s time to settle down and write that next chapter, the one where the two protagonists argue about that issue that will drive a wedge in their relationship. I couldn’t do that, though, until I settled my own argument with my microwave. Believe me, it’s almost human, and I have had a fifteen year, rocky relationship with it. It has a mind of its own, and lately, it decides whether or not I deserve a cup of tea. This morning, as I do almost every morning between 6 and 7:30, I filled a cup with water and snagged a tiny bag of tea leaves, dipping it into the cup with the wimpy string dangling over the rim. I put it into the heart of Monty the microwave. I set it for three minutes while I feed the two felines that have begun to nag me for their breakfast of tuna bits, a ritual that always makes me want to wait a while for my own first meal. As it has done for the last week or so, Monty begins to ding and tells me it has quit the job I have given it. “You may want to call service” scrolls across the digital panel as it turns off the power, and the screen reverts to a series of images that resemble the Japanese constitution. My tea did not even reach the tepid stage before it declared itself off duty.
Monty is only following a trend that the rest of my appliances have followed. Last week, my toaster decided to rebel and only toast one side of my bread. I had to pop up the slices of cheese loaf and turn them over so that they could be toasty on both sides. I lifted the device to see if I could detect something wrong with the wiring and the bottom flap opened up by itself and rained all the crumbs from bagels past onto my counter. “You can be replaced,” I admonished, although I am sure it knew I was too lazy and cheap to run to Target on a hot day just so I could do a simultaneous toast on both sides of my bread. It definitely knew on which side my bread was buttered – the one it decided to toast.
A little while ago, my oven decided to go on strike. I tried to tease it into being a compliant appliance, but it wasn’t having it. I tried sneaking up from it’s blind side and flipping the dial to 350 degrees with a quick rwist of my wrist, and it flashed on for fifteen minutes until it seemed to realize it was warming up and flipped itself off. If I were not the bigger person, I might be tempted to flip it off as well.
I did have to purchase a new oven, but the store told me that they did not install., giving me the number of a company that would be glad to shove it into my wall for a fee. I contacted the representative who sent a person out to size up the situation, who later told me he had developed a bad back and probably couldn’t do it. Finally, my grandson-in-law came over with a buddy, and they managed to manipulate the beast into the wall pocket with a minimum of grunting and groaning.
The rebellion has even reached such casually used appliances as the cleaning tools. I have three dead vacuums in my cellar. I would use them for a matter of months and each one, like wounded soldiers, would stop in mid suck, wheeze, and begin to cough up dust puffs back onto the recently dirt free floor. Yes, that corner of the basement is a sanitation cemetery.
Two weeks ago, my alarm clock refused to wake me up, which was alarming itself. It had been purchased as a birthday gift from my tech savvy son and had blue tooth components and mind reading capabilities. I did know how to set the time, but I was clueless about a lot of its other powers.
My washer has begun to protest if I do a large load for some reason. I think it just doesn’t want to be left out of the failure fashion that has taken the household by storm. I can’t replace it at the moment, so if it conks out, I’ll go down to the stream and bang my wardrobe on the rocks.
I won’t argue anymore. I just reminded Monty Microwave about what happened to the oven, but he didn’t seem to care. He still refused to heat my tea or cook anything I fed him, so I made a trip to the appliance store, and he’s being replaced. Since he won’t fire up, I fired him. I warned him. He should have seen what happened to Oscar the oven and taken heed. He should have realized I do know how to micro-manage.
I now have a new microwave, oven, and toaster, so I am hoping I can have some time to heat up my writing schedule. I think I hear the spirits of the deceased vacuums plotting something, though.
Melva And Anna 