Life does exist. It’s the purpose that counts. (My Ancestor Was an Ancient Astronaut)
Me: What is wrong with you? Ten minutes ago, you turned bacon into the crisp treat my granddaughter loves. Now you have the power of a second-hand toy microwave, the kind with parts that aren’t made anymore.
Microwave: You really want to know.
Me: Yes, I really want to know. STAT. I have guests for brunch.
Microwave: STAT. That stands for Some Time After Therapy. Extensive treatment. You warmed that coffee long enough to mimic molten lava. Did you really think that would coax me into action? If I suddenly rose from the dead, whose tongue were you trying to burn?
Me: Okay. Okay. I was desperate. Wait a minute. You are dead?
Microwave: Not completely. You need to pull my plug.
Me: Literally.
Microwave: Yes. I’m an appliance. You don’t pay for my healthcare. Electricity was all I needed. And an occasional cleaning. I can deal with a garbage-pickup burial. I wish you warm leftovers with no spillovers. May my replacement last as long as I have.
Me: Your timing stinks, you know.
Microwave: And you think you will be planning your demise?
Me: You’re mighty clever for an appliance. No. I don’t think I will jump into a casket on purpose.
Microwave: Well, your son has taken over the stove. Quite well. He’s not staring at a dying appliance for help. Time to face facts, human. You are mighty lucky to have something like me. Gratitude? Yeah. For what you have. For what you can do. Your son is calling you now. Your meal is ready. Celebrate. I’ll wave at you from the curb on pickup day. Well, I’ll wave metaphorically.
And by the way, nothing is wrong with me. Not in the larger scheme of things. You don’t blame a battery for wearing out. Or a day from turning into night. I did what I was meant to do.
Now, you do the same.
terrypetersen 