The Well Behaved Toaster

What is it about Toasters? I mean, why the hell, don’t they bloody work? Most of the Toasters in my life have been absolute bastards. These mean machines do toast, but in their own fashion, you know.



The first toasting machine I ever bought, just burnt things; never saw the toast, just a plume of smoke from the bally thing, and some cindered remains resting at the bottom. It was like running my own private crematorium.

Time went by…another Toaster in my life; this one had a nasty trick of chucking the toast out, and brother, you sure had to jump fast to catch it. Most mornings, my breakfast landed on the kitchen floor.

The current machine in my life, is a contrary little Miss – some mornings its pops the uncooked bread out, ‘No toast today, thank you..’

I set it at 4, I set it at 6. ‘Nae bother lassie…..go hungry.’



I know someone who has a well behaved Toaster – it does the job, the bread is golden brown. Little does its owner know how much I covet his Toaster. Little does he know.

We have a Mission, Houston

Don’t take a bloke shopping, don’t. Lock ‘im up, throw away the key, whatever. But go solo, blokes don’t do serious shopping.

Blokes go on a Mission. To go where no female would dream of going.



Walk to shelf. Pick up item. Advance to the cashier’s desk. Go home.

Have a look round the shopping center...what do you see? Sad, sad blokes, parked on little wooden chairs, waiting for the Missus to reclaim them.

I’m always tempted to creep up and whisper “Run away…go on, leave her to it. Run!”

Don’t imagine for one glorious moment, that you can leave a bloke to carry out a few useful tasks around the house.
Sure, they will agree, and give you the 'nod' routine. 'Yes dear, no dear, three bags full, dear.'
Get a life.
Something Very Important, will have come up, while you were giving yourself a makeover.




“So sorry dear.” Just had to go and save the world, get anything nice dear? Yep. So sorry we are. Not.