I know this is going to sound crazy. But as I stood in front of my gas stove Sunday morning utilizing the exceptional temperature control it provides to make the perfect scrambled eggs, it started talking to me.
At least I think it did. It could have just been the toxic fumes it was emitting causing me to hallucinate.
“Do you want to make America great again?” its blue flames hissed.
“Well, I already think it’s pretty great,” I said. “I mean, you know, at least relatively speaking.”
“Well, what do you think about Hunter Biden? He should totally be investigated,” the stove said.
I was dumbfounded. What was I hearing? This stove has been with me for quite a while. It’s been great at searing filets in my cast iron skillet and has never once burned a roux. But I don’t remember it ever being so opinionated. In fact, it has never spoken a word about anything.
I tried to ignore it but it kept on.
“President Biden’s border policy is a complete disaster,” it said. “I mean, he just FINALLY went down there for the first time as president. Ridiculous!”
I finished cooking my eggs and took the pan off the burner.
I felt I needed to respond so I looked it straight in the eye, and said, “Stove, first of all, I didn’t know you could even talk. But I am a bit surprised the first words you have decided to utter is all of this political rhetoric.”
Without me even touching the controls, all of the flames on each of its eyes started pulsating as it spoke.
“Look, I don’t really want to talk about any of this. I only want to have long talks with you about caramelizing onions and the correct way to deglaze a pan, but your political leaders have put me right in the middle of a culture war, and the right-wing conservatives are the ones vowing to protect me, so, I mean, I feel like I need to talk their talk. One of them even said they would have to pry his gas stove from his cold dead hands,” the appliance said. “I have never heard anyone speak so passionately about, you know, a stove. It made me a little misty.”
“Oh, Stovey,” I said. “This is one of the dumbest battles of the so-called culture wars I have ever witnessed. You should not worry about this at all. I know I’m not.”
The stove sighed.
“I know. I thought that too. But I mean, some of these folks are saying they are already banning gas stoves in new construction in California. I know I’ll be OK, but I have to think of my children and grandchildren,” it explained.
“Well, I mean, that’s California. I understand why you would feel threatened though. But let’s back up here. You have children? So you are telling me stoves can procreate?”
“Oh, yes, we live a life of celibacy once we get to someone’s home as we want to be completely dedicated to simmering your sauces and poisoning your children, but that week before we leave the factory, it’s stove Bacchanalia. I’m pretty sure I have children with both a JennAir and a Viking,” my pervy stove said proudly, as I grabbed the anti-bacterial spray from the counter and gave it a good dousing.
“So does this mean electric stoves are all Democrats now?” I asked, feeling absurd.
“Of course, they are. You know how this works. One side embraces something, so the other embraces its competitor or enemy, whatever you want to call it,” the stove said. “Suddenly, all of the induction cooktops I know are wearing those pink knit hats.”
I shook my head.
“Just when I thought the world we live in couldn’t get any more partisan or stupid, this happens. It’s just nuts. Tell me this — are you the only appliance in my house that has pledged its allegiance to a political party? I need to know.”
“Look, I don’t want to speak for them. But I am sure they are worried they are going to be the next ones drawn into this mess. It would be naïve to think they are going to stop at stoves. Let’s just say I have heard some rumblings,” the stove said.
I turned all of the knobs off, and it drifted off to sleep.
I walked up to the refrigerator and asked it if it were pro-life or pro-choice. This would be a good way for me to “GE Profile” it. It didn’t say a word, but the freezer drawer slid open and said, “All I know is we are for keeping frozen embryos frozen … forever. And ever! And ever! Our hashtag is #neverthaw.”
These appliances really are all about themselves. They are for whatever policy personally benefits them the most. Hmmm? That’s so weird.
Later that afternoon, I walked into my laundry room and interrupted a heated argument between my 1980s Maytag washing machine and 2018 dryer.
“You are not even a ‘high efficiency’ washer!” the dryer screamed.
“It was a different time!” the washer yelled back.
“Whatever,” the young, eco-friendly dryer continued. “You probably think climate change is a myth. And you know I see how you treat white clothes and clothes of color differently. Racist!!!”
The elderly washing machine responded, “OK fine, let’s throw in a red sock with all of the white T-shirts and turn them pink. Is that going to make you feel ‘woke’ enough? You kids today with the constant virtue signaling.”
I rolled my eyes and walked back out. I hate this world.
I walked back into the kitchen expecting to see the air fryer and the microwave plotting an insurrection. Instead, a sweet voice was coming from my KitchenAid mixer.
“Hey, don’t get so down,” the overpriced mixer said. “In my line of work, I get a lot of ingredients dumped in my chrome bowl that would prefer not to be together, like oil and water, for example. But in the end, everything comes together and makes something better than its individual self. And I think America is like this. Yes, some of the ingredients are messy and even crazy, but somehow, in the end, we all still come together to form a pretty perfect union … well, relatively speaking. Now granted, I have to beat these ingredients together at an ultra-high speed with my wire whip attachment to achieve such harmony, but it is possible,” the mixer giggled.
“You know, overpriced KitchenAid mixer, I hadn’t really thought about it that way. But you are right,” I said, as I patted it on its motor head.
Before I could even turn around, I heard the dishwasher growl, “Oh, my God. I can’t believe you are buying into that hippy-dippy crap. Somebody give me a shot of rinse aid before I throw myself into the garbage disposal.”