Fantasy Papoose

July 21, 2017

Micra

by Papoose Doorbelle

The ceiling fan blew a kiss at the microwave the moment the stove dimmed its lights so the fridge couldn't refocus in time to see him fanning the fridge's beloved. Microwave moved momentarily to dodge the daring wind washing ashore inches away along the counter's coastline. The toaster gasped in away at the site of the fan's familiar smirk stretching across his face. Fridge finally focused, fairly assessing the brewing obsession with compassionate reserve. The coffee pot whispered a whimper to the washer, where dishes awaited their daily shower and drying distraction from drama the fan instigated. The blender was caught off guard from the shock of the pot's insinuations; the poor fridge too busy protecting perishables to persistently prevent the passes a fan fearlessly floats towards the microwave. It's true opposites attract, because fridge and microwave were designed to provide opposing functions for the food they prepare. One to keep cold; the other built to heat up. Yet, they found love together, so even if the gentle gusts give to the fumes from constant cleaning of the counter microwave rests upon, she still avoids the space an unwelcome wind would have wandered across had they not lacked the integrity formed from the confidence found in diligence. Her heart belonged to fridge, so when blender momentarily buzzed about before unplugging his battery, pot's claim plenty pain for the fan with no shame promises a show that will entertain every appliance aware of the buildup behind fridge's frame and destined to finish with him fighting fan to regain the honor in his name. "She's mine," Fridge states. "Never said she wasn't," Fan responded. "Then why are waves of kisses floating from your mild gusts of wind?" Fridge asks. "Those aren't kisses, my friend," Fan explains, "at least not for Micra Wave anyway." "Oh?" Fridge fumbles out with humility, "then who?" "If you must know," the Fan asserts quite brazenly, "I've been secretly dating Count-her Top for weeks now. I'm surprised you didn't overhear Coffey Pot when Blend-hur heard her whispers about us." "I apologize Ceiling Fan, Micra and I naturally assumed... well... I mean... we didn't know." "That's what happens when you assume," the sink interrupted, "you two should just squash this." "I think I have some squash in my drawer," answered Fridge.