Ode to an Oster

While in the shower just now I rattled off an entire poem - beginning to end with only slight revisions during - in my head. This always happens, unfortunately, I tend to be the most creative when there is no possibility of getting any of it down. I used to think of the most elaborate plots and ideas when I'd walk my dogs at night - but then I'd come home and have to unleash them and get them water and talk to whoever was around and everything would leak out of my brain into the abyss of lost memories (which is a goldmine of creative ideas, but one without a mine-cart or pulley system).

I had so hoped to write a poem for this blog as a eulogy to my broken toaster which I threw away. I never throw anything away, but it was smelling like danger and sparking, and things of that nature, and I didn't want anyone messing with it.

The smell I think was seeping into Tom's and my brain last night because we both woke up with reports of terrifying (similarly terrifying) nightmares. When I realized it was the toaster I chucked it out.

But it was such a lovely thing - a rounded, copper Oster. It didn't work all that well, and didn't last all that long, but was cute while it did last and looked great with my dark orange counter-top.

I can't believe I have to buy a new toaster! I'm thinking about a toaster-oven for versatility since we don't have a microwave, but they always burn my hands. I know one thing, I will not buy one again based on looks!... or anyway, I know I shouldn't.