Writing Assignment (4 pts): Monologue of a Household Tool. “A Chilly Love Story”

           I must say, I am definitely your favorite appliance in the house. Really, you must think I’m full of it, but well…I’m kind of full, literally. I see you prance around in the kitchen, holding your pained stomach under your hand. I’ve got exactly what you need, believe me. Then your eyes meet my stainless-steel armor and I know I have gotten your attention. You quickly pace towards me and grasp the handle to unlock my secrets of delight. When you open my door, I feel so alive and everything just lights up. I see your eyes scanning me like a metal detector, only you’re detecting a milk carton, ketchup bottles, one slice of cheddar cheese, and an open can of Monster. My lights grow dimmer when I see your expectant smile fade and you close the door. But I don’t understand. I mean, I always have what you need. You can put a line of ketchup on the slice of cheese and have a glass of milk and the monster on the side…right? Then after two minutes of torturous agony, you open the door again. I wish all the time I could magically make a roll of cookie dough magically appear in one of my compartments. This is the game we play: you leave me empty and come back for more. I let you take everything out of me because that is all I have to offer until you fill me up again. You are the one who gives me a purpose and a reason to open my door. I let you tattoo me with your photographs and dentist appointments notes hung on their tacky little magnets and never protest.

            Then I hear you open a door close by: my ice-cold brother. You mutter, “Yes,” while doing a celebratory gesture as his light illuminates your statuesque face. You pull out a box of…it’s so hard to say, give me a second because I feel I’m melting…Bagel Bites! How could you do this to me? It hurts knowing you choose to accept my cold brother’s gifts rather than mine. But what, you look my way and I forget how you hurt me because you pull out that half-full can on Monster. No matter how many times you open my door, close it, then open it again in a passing of one long minute, I still adore you.

            See. I always win.