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Toasted

Let's talk politics.


Just kidding.


What I'd really like to discuss is my toaster. I hate it. There, I finally said it. Do I feel better? Not particularly. Maybe I will once I discuss my problem with it.


I enjoy a nice piece of toast just as much as the next person. I can't say I'm all that particular about how my bread is toasted. If it's a little light or a little too dark or just right doesn't matter to me too much. That's not high on the list. What does matter to me is not having my toast ejected with such force that it flies from the toaster and lands on the ground.


The projectile machine in question is my black SMEG toaster that from here on out I will refer to as "SMEG" because it has a nice bad guy ring to it. When we purchased it last year, after reading many favorable reviews, I felt confident that we had purchased the right appliance. I was wrong.



The day SMEG arrived I was quite pleased to have a new toaster. Our old one, after many faithful years of service and not one piece of bread launched into the stratosphere, had lost the will to toast and I had turned to the oven for browning purposes. I unboxed SMEG, was pleased with the retro look, and put it away for future use.


The First Toasting


Saturday morning (I'm more of a weekend toaster) arrived and I grabbed a couple slices of sourdough and put SMEG to work. I left the kitchen to get a napkin, got sidetracked by a cat in need of petting, and returned when I heard the familiar noise of a toaster finishing its job. What I saw left me confused and frustrated. My toast was on the ground.


I assessed the scene. No kid around. Can't blame her. No cats. They only care if the toast has butter on it anyway and I hadn't been able to reach that point in the process. No wife. She was in another part of the house and after fifteen years of marriage has never thrown my toast on the ground, so now would be a weird time to start. Toast throwing is usually one of those things that you find out about someone early on in a relationship.


What could have happened? I thought. And that was when I focused on SMEG. He (I've decided that SMEG is a male) was sitting there looking so innocent. No, not you.


I tossed the old toast and got two more pieces. I had to test my theory. I put the pieces in, pressed down the lever, and waited. Then, right on cue, the toast was launched skyward. But this time I was ready and snatched them before they were floorward bound. So it was the toaster, in the kitchen, with the candlestick.


Toasting Ever After


Since that fateful Saturday morning I have been in a constant struggle with SMEG. Many pieces of toast have been lost, along with a few years shaved off my life due to cooking stress. I guess I could just get rid of him, but he didn't come cheap and I keep hoping that one day he will right his wrongs. I guess at this point it's shame on me.



Now, let's talk politics.


Just kidding.

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