I’m still dying over here, hence the blog silence lately, but I think I’m starting to see a light at the end of the tunnel. Whether that means I’m getting better, or there really is a god and it’s seen fit to take some of my pain away as I float toward the light remains to be seen.
Anyhoo… Not a lot of cooking or crafting going on lately, since when you can’t taste or smell anything, nothing is terribly appetizing. (Dani, you wanted to know the secret about people who can’t eat. There it is.) That said, I did scrub down my kitchen last night because I’m getting a little tired of snacking on Jelly Bellys to keep myself alive (and we just ran out). I’m ready to make dinner again. I even lovingly scrubbed down the coffee pot, filter, and burr grinder, and this morning it brewed a delightful pot which may well have been the best part of my day so far.
But as I lay in bed this morning, listening to my coffee brewing, it occured to me that the noises that appliance makes are quite sexual in nature, and I think that my coffee pot is more sexually satisfied than I am. How so? Well, it sighs! Little contented sighs, almost like happy cooing noises, followed by loud, satisfied moans. I half expect that when it beeps at me to signal its doneness, that it retreats into itself and has a cigarette. Or maybe that’s what all that steam is. What I’m saying here, is that clearly, my coffee pot is female.
But at least that appliance is happy. Compare that with my bitch of a teapot which has to be coaxed into a hot, frenzied state, and even then it just screams at me. And somehow, I always equate that screaming with some form of steamy tourette’s.
My waffle iron is the pornstar of the kitchen, seeing as how that whore beeps at you every few seconds when it’s hot, begging for you to drop your batter in it.
The Kitchen-Aid mixer is also a chick, and really, it’s the only one in the kitchen with which I have a give and take relationship. I have to actually turn it on and work it up to a fever pitch, but once it’s going it’s just a matter of time before there’s a gooey explosion all over the walls. Okay, so maybe the mixer is a tranny.
The dishwasher has to be loaded before you can turn it on, not unlike some women I know.
The fridge is constantly stuffed with more meat than it can handle, despite the fact that it’s a frigid bitch.
The oven only takes minutes to get hot and ready and then you can stuff whatever you want in it. It’s not not picky. Sort of like the fat chick in the bar at last call.
Then there’s the microwave. The microwave is like the dildo of appliances. It’s not really cooking, but it gets the job done, even if the result is somehow less satisfying.
And seeing as how all my kitchen appliances except the dildo of a microwave are female, does this make me the unfortunate victim of gender brainwashing, or just the byproduct of a conservative household? And the real question here – should I be more questioning of my coffee pot’s secretions?
I’m obviously a broken woman.