The Brave Little Toaster

My family has had a long, illustrious, and somewhat infamous history with toasters. Yes, toasters. Not toaster ovens, for those are far too complicated for us to handle with any kind of competency and, though we may not know much, we at least know our place. Besides, if we can't handle "adjust the setting, push the button," I doubt we're ready for such an upgrade.

But our other problem is that, for some reason, we have historically never purchased toasters new. Rather, we have inherited them "gently" used from other locales. Our current toaster, for instance, was once my grandmother's, and after she passed away four years ago, we took it to replace the one we had, which was (unsurprisingly) on the fritz. For four years, it has served us admirably well.

It does, however, have one interesting quirk: if you adjust the setting mid-toast, it does not take kindly, and will erratically elongate or shorten the toasting cycle at its own mechanical discretion. And since I do not like my Eggos to resemble hockey pucks, I am forced to watch my waffles diligently and pop the button whenever I feel they are at the peak of their warm fluffiness.

This morning, however, in an act of appeasement, I let the first two waffles toast to the end of the cycle. Sure, they were a little crisp, but at least I had the prospect of my third waffle to satiate me. As I ate, I placed the third waffle into the slot, depressed the button, and went to enjoy my pucks.

No more than ten seconds later, the button popped my waffle up. Alarmed at how quickly it finished, I went and felt the waffle thoroughly. (I'm sure you're giggling right now. Trust me, I am too.) Sure enough, warm at the edges, but cold in the middle. Back in for more, I declared! Once more, I depressed the button.

I didn't even sit back down again when the button popped once more. Only this time, my insolence had clearly angered the toasting gods.

For my waffle was not sitting in its slot, awaiting my approbation. No, it had been flung completely free of the toaster, and was sitting a foot and a half to the left of the enraged appliance.

So naturally, I just sat back down with the waffle and ate it quietly and contentedly. Was it perfect? No.

But holy shit, I do not want to piss that toaster off again...