Microwave Oven 1967
Photo from
http://www.smecc.org
I don’t do much microwaving. Warming Tea. Reviving Stale Coffee. Unfreezing Vegetables. Popping Corn. The Usual. I don’t cook from scratch in the microwave. I don’t cook from scratch on the regular range much either.
I am not a great fan of cooking (from scratch or otherwise) although you may recall my friends think I am a gourmet chef.
I am the Great Chef Imposter.
Sometimes I do use the microwave though.
At least I don’t store my socks in there like one bachelor fellow I once knew.
He also stacked his shoes in the dishwasher.
But to continue – – our microwave oven was looking ill. A worn spot developed inside with some unexplainable staining. Uh oh! “Possible extermination of human life,” I thought. “If I stand closer than 6 feet away I might get attacked by escaping nuclear atoms or something.”
“We need a new microwave!” I cried whenever Bill came into view. Bill doesn’t come into view often although we have been married close to forever. He has his desk. I have my desk. Maybe that’s the secret to long-term marital bliss.
Anyway I made a momentous decision and purchased a new microwave! Same brand. Different color.
The old one was black; the new one stainless steel.
At home, as if to say, “I hate this kitchen,” the new addition emitted a horrible plastic-y odor. “Ikkkk!” said I. But as Bill tried to tell me, within a few days the odor was more tolerable. By then however, I developed a bad attitude.
I know it is irrational to dislike a mechanical object but I did.
Not only did the Miserable Micro smell bad, but every time we used it there were visible fingerprints all over the dratted thing! If I decided to murder my husband (or the microwave) the evidence against me would be there on the stainless steel in glaring detail.
Still, I pretended to love Le Mizerable Micro.
In reality I was stuck with a machine I hated and with no good reason to return it.
I think Le Miz knew we were not destined to a life of love, so one morning when I pushed its “On” button, it began to wail!
A truly horrific sound came from deep within its bowels (if a microwave has bowels) and it was a deafening siren-like moan that would send any normal person fleeing. In a dubious act of love (fearing an imminent explosion) and being either stupid or extremely brave, I quickly pulled the plug. I saved the machine – and the day – and we all survived.
But that scream was all I needed to return Le Miz to the DIY Store.
In its place is a new (black) Miracle Microwave that was $2.00 cheaper than the first and has no odor. Miracle Micro is so perfect I have fallen in love. No moaning and no fingerprints either. I think it loves me too as it seems to purr with satisfaction.
Odd but I now believe that horrendous moan was Le Miz’ way of expressing love too, by emitting a last agonizing scream to release us both from bondage. I am so thankful and will never forget that enormous sacrifice.
No, uh, your blogger pal does not require medical attention but has only just recognized the hidden bonds of love that can develop between machines and man (or woman).
Do you have a machine you love?
Do you believe machines have feelings too?
Virginia Views 