Wake up in the morning, not feeling like P Diddy because I'm not sure what that even means, and slide two pieces of wheat bread into the designated toaster slots. And I wait, drumming a cadence on the counter top or finish frying an egg to accompany my breakfast feast of carbohydrates. But no matter which one it is, as I sit in this pocket of eternal waiting or even reach for the lever to persuade them that they're done already, a massive explosion of nicely browned bread comes from the little white electronic device thus making me jump.
After two weeks back you would think I'd have gotten used to it by now. I would like to blame the past four months of working with a toaster oven instead, but I don't think that machine needs that much credit. It always dinged really loudly and you had to continuously watch your toast because you turned your back for a moment it would seek revenge and deliver a charring sucker punch to your prospective toast into ashes. Not that I don't mind a bit of good soot every once in a while, but only on the very rare, very special occasions. Anyway, enough with this tangent.
It could be because I don't have any faith in the said toaster, and for those of you who are scratching their heads like monkeys and exchanging puzzled expressions like trading cards, let me explain. At one point in my adolescence faith was once explained to be via the metaphor of a toaster because you know, without any doubt, that the toast is going to pop up. You have faith the bread will become toast and come out. With this nugget of knowledge, it can be assessed that since the toaster surprises me, I, somehow, did not know the toast was going to pop up meaning I do not have faith in my toaster. Maybe the toaster is so keenly aware of my lack of faith in it and now proceeds to exact vengence on me.
Hmmm, I might have gone a bit too far. :D Maybe I will just have to trust that someday the toaster and I will be reconciled. Until then....
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