A dishwasher. I don’t have a dishwasher of my own, mind you, but I would crawl into someone else’s and ride it straight to Pound Town, given half a chance. Depending on my mood, I would probably get things rolling with the China/Crystal cycle, before letting Auto Clean have its way with me, and finally Power Washing my way to the finish line. I might even drop my inhibitions and go in for a full Sanitize, but only once in a blue moon.
The paper shredder. With that raspy motor and tiny indication light, I’d let this sucker mess me up six ways till Sunday. My credit card statements are in a wad of hundreds of tiny strips, just like my self respect after that shredder gets through with me, if you know what I mean.
Clock radio. Damn baby, is it 11:11, or are you just happy to see me? Your bright LCD display and weird limp radio antenna thingy have me gazing your way all night long. You may be obsolete due to newer technology, but I just can’t seem to quit you.
My electric mixer. This puppy has a 10-speed motor that can stir, whip, and purée me into a froth that would make Gordon Ramsay blush. And if you really want to get ruined, make a call to your dealer, take a couple of days off work, and get to know your dough hook biblically. Sweet Mary, Mother-of-Bread, you won’t regret it.
White noise machine. Nothing can lull me to a pinnacle quite like the reliable audio striations of a white noise machine. Originally invented as an external sleep aid, its inventors probably had no idea they were creating the soundscape to my own private Rainforest Sofa Dance.
An air conditioner. The A/C is the Holy Grail of appliances I would give the business to. I quiver with passion when I hear the steady hum of one of these bad boys, hanging all provocatively out of an upstairs window. In the late summer months, I can often be found outside, languishing haphazardly beneath protruding Japanese units, just praying one comes reeling down on top of me real hard. What a way to go!
My phone charger. This coquettish little plug delivers a crucial service that I keep coming back for every few hours. I just can’t stay away. I definitely stick it in at least ten times a day. And if I’m away from home, well, I have no problem using a stranger’s plug. What’s the point of having a charge port if you’re just going to let it sit empty, I always say.
Vacuum cleaner. Okay, admittedly, I neglect this little number more than I should. It’s such a well designed piece of equipment. Nice curves, great suction, and some sweet little attachments that are around somewhere, I think. Anytime I get past my hangups and get busy with the vacuum, I’m always glad I did. And that retractable cord just goes on for days.
The coffee maker. To put it mildly, I would have about thirteen of my coffee maker’s bastard Colombian children. And I would birth them outside, in the Andean foothills, drug-free, if that’s what the coffee machine desired, because it is that good of a lover. Some say the coffee machine is not as sexy as, say, a French press. But while the French press does make a damn fine cup of weekend coffee, it will not automatically brew it at the push of a button. Wham, bam, I need it in me as soon as I wake up.
Sarah Hutto is a writer whose work is on McSweeney’s, Shouts and Murmurs, and Reductress. Keep up with her appliance reviews by following her @huttopian on Twitter.
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