So I had the following conversation with my microwave. Microwave: Beep. Me: I know, my coffee is ready. I'll be right there. Microwave: Beep. Me: I said I know. I'm working on a blog post. I'll be right there. Microwave: Beep. Me: Holy shit, you are one pushy motherfucker. I'll get my coffee when I'm damn good and ready. Microwave: Bitch, did you just mouth off to me? Oh no you didn't. Beep. Me: You work for me, remember? My coffee better be hot when I get over there. Microwave: I have better things to do than stand around here waiting for you to think of crappy blog titles. Beep. Me: No you don't. I see what you do all day. Would you like some Bon Bons with that? Microwave: Beep. Me: Fuck you, asshole. I'm coming.
That's when I retrieved the coffee, took a sip and scalded the roof of my mouth.
Me: That was uncalled for. Microwave: Don't sass me.
OK, so truthfully, only part of that conversation happened for real. But I'm not quite sure where the psychotic episode begins and ends. Maybe I need to get out of my apartment more. You know, meet some microwaves that aren't abusive jerks.