Apparently I have been badly misled.

Primarily, the deception started with my junior high school science teacher.  Mr. Plaxin made the point that one of the chief differences between ‘animate’ and ‘inanimate’ objects was that animate objects had the ability to communicate.

This is apparently a lie.  A big, juicy kinda lie.  Evidence you say?  No problem.

Three days ago, we said goodbye to our microwave oven.  It had been a faithful servant, with us for longer than we expected.  We called it Mike.   And when it passed, it went quietly.  We conducted the appropriate traditions of remembrance, said our goodbyes and bought a shiny, new Panasonic to fill the void.  We believed that Mike would have been pleased with our choice.

Obviously that was irrelevant because in fact, the other household appliances were not pleased with our choice or anything else for that matter.

The day after New Mike came to live in our kitchen, the Keurig coffee maker decided to throw a hissy fit.  This wasn’t your ordinary minor complaint.  I heard noises in the kitchen.  I investigated.  It was like Canada Day and the Fourth of July and the World’s Fair had all come together at one time in one place.  Sparks were shooting into the air, water and steam were gushing forth.  I managed to use my expertise to bring calm to the situation but unfortunately neither the paramedics nor I could save the severely wounded and obviously deranged appliance.  As I carried it gently to it’s final resting place it kept muttering “Mike was my friend, dammit.  Mike was my friend!”

In the greater scheme of things, it was just a coffee maker but I need my morning coffee.  It’s not just essential, it’s right up there with oxygen.  So we bought a new one.

Obviously, word had gotten around and with the loss of two friends, it was only a matter of hours before the toaster oven looked me straight in the eye and said “I quit.  I can’t work here anymore.  Mike is gone.  Kari is gone (I didn’t even know that the coffee maker had a name).  Don’t try to stop me.  I’m outta here.”

Don’t let the door hit you on the backside on the way out, and by the way, we won’t be replacing you.

This morning, I opened the refrigerator door to grab the milk and the light inside started flashing.  Not just flashing, but it seemed to be flashing in a bizarre sort of pattern.  I finally figured it out.  Morse Code.  The pattern kept repeating itself.  Long, long/short,short/long,short,long/short.  Over and over again.  Went to the Morse Code translator.  The hair on the back of my neck woke up.  Long, long/short,short/long,short,long/short spells “Mike”.

I’m writing this blog post at the library because there’s no power at home.  I shut it off.  All of it.  I’m hoping by the time I get home and turn the power back on that all will be forgiven or at least forgotten.

If not and my blog postings cease, please tell the authorities that the blender did it.

Her name is Brenda.  The dishwasher mentioned that.