Microwave Oven

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I once had a friend who was a microwave oven. She heated up quickly, but had a cold heart. I went to high school with her.  We kept in touch over the years.

She married a man because she believed that as he aged, he would grow more and more to resemble his father, whom she greatly admired. But as he aged, he became the antithesis of his father. It made her bitter. Her glass door became greasy. You could no longer see what was inside her.

I talked to her on the phone. I was thinking about all the appliances that I’ve owned that have broken down and I’ve discarded.  

I had a friend who was a vacuum cleaner. I had a friend who was a dishwasher. I had a friend who was a ceiling fan. My wife told me that all my friends are marginal, which was the way she reminded me of how marginal I am.

This friend, who was a microwave oven, aged.  The hinges on her door weakened and she began to release dangerous radiation.  At night I would imagine myself spinning on her carousel and would get excited and couldn’t sleep.  I put a cup of coffee in her and carelessly pushed some buttons. The coffee boiled over and seeped through the bottom of the door. It kept pouring out of her.

 

Image:  ” Late Night Snack ” by Danielle deLeon , licensed under CC BY 2.0

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