A girl and her dinner
I exploded my blender today. Yes *sigh* it’s true, “Blendy” the blender is no more. The leek “fronds” were just too much for poor Blendy, try as he might, poor thing. It was horrible in the end really. The white arcing light, smell of melting plastic and his little grinding and burning motor. The most horrible was the plume of slowly wafting white smoke drifting insidiously from under Blendy’s little rubber feet.
(I was going to insert some joke here about terrorism, slowly wafting white smoke and Murphy the dog being in grave danger. Then I decided that it didn’t really go, and could possibly be not funny. I mean, I know your saying to yourself “Geesh, who *doesn’t* think terrorism is funny”, but, you know, I don’t like to go for those cheap laughs)
I had to put little Blendy out on the patio for fear that his insides were still burning. It was bitter sweet when Murphy the dog followed me outside while I took the once lively, now hollow useless white shell of a machine outside and placed it on the cold cement. Murphy looked up at me, with her one good eye, as if to say, “Why? Why?” Then as I gently laid Blendy down, to let the fire run it’s course, Murphy the dog laid down next to that little white trooper. I felt she was protecting the sanctity of Blendy’s remains from the circling vultures and the rouge jackals. A tear welled up in my eye and slowly fell down my cheek as I looked at the two old time friends and knew, deep in my heart, that things would never be the same again.
God speed Blendy.
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