Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Today I knew I was ‘toast’ (in the Aussie slang ‘now I’m in trouble’ definition of the word), when the toaster worked. For six months the toaster has mostly not worked but if you stand holding the toaster lever-thing down, then you can produce some toast-ish something – unless you get lost in your own wee world, forced to stand still in a non-multi-tasking fashion and end up burning the stuff. So while mostly not working, the toaster has functioned just enough for me to stave off contributing to Landfill Mountain and the avoid-at-all-costs trip to one of those awful homewares stores. Plus we’re all likelier to grab an instant gratification apple, rather than stand about making hot, buttery bread.
Anyway. This morning I pressed down the toaster lever and it stayed put. Alarmingly, it waited a bit, then perkily popped up two pieces of perfectly browned raisin toast. While I ate with one eyebrow quizzically raised (mostly using my imagination, because I can’t do the eyebrow thing but the eldest has me in training), I noted my distinct sense of unease, then piled the kids in the car for the school run, then proceeded to not start said car.
A long, chilly, long, chilly, long, chilly, long walk to school and back later, followed by a visit from the RACV man and a started car and the small one fancied some raisin toast. Is some sort of weirdy kitchen appliance/automobile sunchronicity-thing possibile? As the car hummed in the driveway, I stood holding down the pesky toaster lever, became lost in all sorts of Twilight Zone-esque theories and presented the toddler with a perfectly burned scrap of toast.
Thursday, I’m ready for you.