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The Brave Little Toaster: A Guide to Life
Posted by Ryan R.
on
Saturday, February 28, 2009
Our first Guest Contributor to end the fine month of February is the lovely Miss Desiree. Enjoy and seize the day!
Once upon a time, as a young child, a parental unit put forth the VHS story of a young, good-hearted kitchen appliance, struggling to make a place in the cold, harsh House. My life was forever altered.
I’ve always been clumsy. Disgustingly so. When I was a year old, I managed to tumble head over walker down a flight of stairs. No one knows how I managed this daring feat, but my head was cracked open and a puddle of baby blood littered the landing. The point of this anecdote: I’ve been effing clumsy from the beginning.
Lamps have been destroyed, tables skewed, knick-knacks disastrously rearranged. The Brave Little Toaster made me feel guilty for all inanimate objects that I have so horribly abused in the past. From that day on, I vowed to make amends.
Every time I bump into a desk: “I’m sorry, desk.”
A lamp: “I’m sorry, lamp. Dreadfully so.”
The Brave Little Toaster taught me that everything has feelings, even neglected toasters and old vacuum cleaners. These misunderstood, abused creatures deserve respect. It is my mission in life to give it to them. I love Lamp. You should too.
P.S. I suppose you should also love other things, like your friends, your family, and yourself. But those things are secondary and worthy of only passing thought while you never know when your stove might become angry because you didn’t thank it and it then decided to set your house on fire. Or kill you in some other disastrous manner.
P.P.S. When you haven’t slept in days and begin to hallucinate and think that the microwave is giving you the evil eye… well, it probably is.
Love,
Desiree.
|
Once upon a time, as a young child, a parental unit put forth the VHS story of a young, good-hearted kitchen appliance, struggling to make a place in the cold, harsh House. My life was forever altered.
I’ve always been clumsy. Disgustingly so. When I was a year old, I managed to tumble head over walker down a flight of stairs. No one knows how I managed this daring feat, but my head was cracked open and a puddle of baby blood littered the landing. The point of this anecdote: I’ve been effing clumsy from the beginning.
Lamps have been destroyed, tables skewed, knick-knacks disastrously rearranged. The Brave Little Toaster made me feel guilty for all inanimate objects that I have so horribly abused in the past. From that day on, I vowed to make amends.
Every time I bump into a desk: “I’m sorry, desk.”
A lamp: “I’m sorry, lamp. Dreadfully so.”
The Brave Little Toaster taught me that everything has feelings, even neglected toasters and old vacuum cleaners. These misunderstood, abused creatures deserve respect. It is my mission in life to give it to them. I love Lamp. You should too.
P.S. I suppose you should also love other things, like your friends, your family, and yourself. But those things are secondary and worthy of only passing thought while you never know when your stove might become angry because you didn’t thank it and it then decided to set your house on fire. Or kill you in some other disastrous manner.
P.P.S. When you haven’t slept in days and begin to hallucinate and think that the microwave is giving you the evil eye… well, it probably is.
Love,
Desiree.
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