I reached in the bag and grabbed two pieces of bread from the middle of the loaf while a series of first class yawns worked their way out of my system. As I turned around and dropped the bread into the toaster I thought to myself that I probably should have washed my hands. "Oh well, it's too late now." I said out loud to no one. Besides, the toasting would kill any germs that I might have gotten on the bread I told myself, not knowing if it was true or not. I pressed down on the lever and the bread dropped out of sight, almost.
I was annoyed as I stared at the top quarter-inch of bread that remained safely above the toasting zone. I asked myself why I let that bother me; I have been using the same toaster for 6 years so it's not like it's a big surprise when that top portion mocks me in cool comfort. Still, it bothered me but I would soon exact my revenge by dropping those smug slices of bread head-first straight into hell.
A smile of satisfaction broke across my face as I heard the tell-tale crackling that signaled bread turning to toast. I was lost in the hypnotic glow of the orange toasting filaments when I felt my cat gently rub up against my leg. When I looked down, she was already moving on to bigger things.
I looked back at the toaster and knew it was crunch time. You see, in my early twenties I learned that the darkness dial on every single toaster ever made wasn't really hooked up to anything. It was put there as a sick joke by toaster engineers beginning in 1907. If you can get a retired toaster man to talk, he'll tell you the same thing but you might have to loosen him up with alcohol and a promise not to tell anybody. So to rely on the darkness dial is pure suicide, only a fool would chance it and I ain't no fool. Instinctively sensing that I was approaching the point of no-toast return, I reached over and raised the lever, ending the process before any real damage could occur.
As I threw the hot toast onto a plate, I paused for a second to admire the perfect golden brown earth tones that now covered the fragile slices. "Look what I've accomplished and I haven't even been up for 5 minutes." I thought proudly.
It was going to be a great day.
I was annoyed as I stared at the top quarter-inch of bread that remained safely above the toasting zone. I asked myself why I let that bother me; I have been using the same toaster for 6 years so it's not like it's a big surprise when that top portion mocks me in cool comfort. Still, it bothered me but I would soon exact my revenge by dropping those smug slices of bread head-first straight into hell.
A smile of satisfaction broke across my face as I heard the tell-tale crackling that signaled bread turning to toast. I was lost in the hypnotic glow of the orange toasting filaments when I felt my cat gently rub up against my leg. When I looked down, she was already moving on to bigger things.
I looked back at the toaster and knew it was crunch time. You see, in my early twenties I learned that the darkness dial on every single toaster ever made wasn't really hooked up to anything. It was put there as a sick joke by toaster engineers beginning in 1907. If you can get a retired toaster man to talk, he'll tell you the same thing but you might have to loosen him up with alcohol and a promise not to tell anybody. So to rely on the darkness dial is pure suicide, only a fool would chance it and I ain't no fool. Instinctively sensing that I was approaching the point of no-toast return, I reached over and raised the lever, ending the process before any real damage could occur.
As I threw the hot toast onto a plate, I paused for a second to admire the perfect golden brown earth tones that now covered the fragile slices. "Look what I've accomplished and I haven't even been up for 5 minutes." I thought proudly.
It was going to be a great day.
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