There is something enlightening about being able to communicate with appliances and electronics; it is a hidden gift I’ve always had, I figure, although my earliest memory of it was when I was four, and I would listen to the murmuring of the fish aquarium in my brother’s room. At first I thought I was imagining words to some odd little song masked by the hum. But no, I soon found out it was the aquarium itself that was crooning, and soon I could hear the distinctive voices of the irritable microwave, the neurotic television, and the babbling fluorescent lights in the kitchen. But I don’t mind the lights non-stop gossiping about all the things they see from above; it’s better than fighting with the vacuum. Surprisingly, the children’s movie “The Brave Little Toaster” personified grumpy vacuums with amazing accuracy. Maybe whoever wrote that script has my talent too.
Now it may be because of my unusual ear, but I embarrassingly admit that I also tend to fall in love with people strictly by voice. I may be the only person on earth who looks forward to a telemarketer’s call, if it so happens to be a male with a strong baritone, as I will allow him to ramble on and on while my heart flutters and flits along the melodies of his verbal vibrancy.
Then on my 21st birthday, my mother gets a chrome-plated expresso machine for me as a present. I’m not a big coffee drinker, but I set it up and plug the machine into the wall—and dang, if it doesn’t have the sexiest, smoothest voice I’ve ever heard. Maybe it was influenced by the Columbian coffee beans that it brewed, or maybe it was the swell of steam that created that airy, creamy foam on top of the perfect latte, the brown of tanned skin. But every time I heard that voice…”Buenos dias, my lovely lady. Why don’t we make you something nice and warm to awaken your senses?” and the light danced across its flawless, shining surface, it sent my body swaying and my face donning a goofy grin.
That’s right, folks…that’s the moment I fell head over heels in love with the expresso machine.
Don’t think I didn’t know it was a massive mistake for me to allow myself to feel that way…this was not normal! No wonder I couldn’t find a guy—a human guy—who wanted to date me more than once. But the expresso machine never criticized my thoughts or looks; it couldn’t get up and walk away when it got bored of me; it couldn’t leave its stuff lying all around the place and expect me to pick it up; and it always sounded as delighted to see me as I did waking up to its gourmet goodness every morning.
Until one day, I overheard it making sweet-talk to the crockpot. Naturally, I threw them both in the trash can.
Well, there is one good thing that can come from heartbreak over an electrical device. It gives you a good reason to go out shopping at the Bed, Bath and Beyond…