If your furniture, appliances, and other inanimate objects at home had feelings and emotions, to which item would you owe the biggest apology?
First off, I have no sitting furniture anymore in my house since it had to be thrown out due to it being infested. My apology to the couch and chairs who had to sit through the hell that crawled on and in them (and for the countless bottoms that misshaped them). The bed I sleep on is still happy though, being the special place where I usually write everyday and catch some much needed z’s every night (unless I stay up until 7 in the morning). Today though, the black swivel chair in my room is feeling special because I am sitting at my desk writing this blog, feeling a little more studious and professional, being able to sit upright, my words feeling more carefully constructed unlike than the way they lazily come out while wallowing in the comfort of the mattress.
Another small apology to the microwave whose inside compartment is filthier than the rats in a sewer or a strip club on Saturday night. Right now it resembles a bird trying to take flight with its metal flaps not being screwed down, the red hot radiating parts being exposed, the leaking radiation probably going to kill us all eventually.
My utmost sincere apology goes to my dryer since it has been broken for over a year now and no longer gets to heat up our clothes and get all warm and snugly in its corner by the washer, who also is sad – he’s usually a happy, jumpy fellow (when the load is uneven) but with his companion no longer in service, the quick two step, door to door process is nonexistent. There used to be a tandem relationship between these two, a cold to hot, wet to dry shifting pattern. Now, with the clothes being stuck in a cold, damp hell after the last cycle and only getting dry after going about two miles down the road to the nearest laundromat, the love is broken, the need to use the former machine becomes tedious and tiresome.
The tumbler should have at least been repaired a long time ago but time has passed and its injuries have been neglected. I think it’s an electrical problem, an issue with the cord, but the time, patience, and money to replace it has been put on the back burner way too many times. If my tumbler could speak, it would tell me of the old days when it could toss and turn my clothes, enjoying the look on my face whenever I got a minor shock from the static electricity passing from some freshly pressed socks to my nervous system. Dryer would be like an old time crooner, reminiscing about the times when its corner of the home used to be alive and well, how easy everything was. Now it sits grumpily by its even more depressing counterpart, dreaming about the day when it will finally turn on again and get its revolving muscles working, shaking off the virtual rust and feeling proud to be my dryer, not just another broken appliance that could easily be replaced with a brand spanking new one and be blown clean out of the 21st century.
DP #70: “Wronged Objects.”