Before a very unusual event occurred, it was a typical Tuesday morning in the Thompson home.
“Jill, good morning!” A voice chirped.
Still partly sleeping, Jill surveyed the kitchen. “Mom, did you say something?” she rubbed her eyes and said.
Her mother shook her head while preparing coffee. “Nope, just me and the coffee machine.”
The voice said, “Good morning, Jill!” again.
Jill saw that it was coming from the toaster this time.
She looked at the little metal device and blinked. “Did you just talk?”
“I did, of course,” the toaster said. “I’ve spent days attempting to grab your attention! Your toast is constantly burned. It truly is a tragedy.
Jill’s gaze expanded. “You mean I’m dreaming?”
“Nope, wide awake,” joyfully chimed the toaster. “How about we try now?”
“The toaster!” Jill pointed as she said. However, the toaster abruptly stopped talking.
Her mother arched an eyebrow. “All right… Less screen time, maybe, my love.
The toaster spoke again when her mother left the room. She doesn’t think you’re real. The talking toaster is never trusted. However, we are aware of the reality.
Jill laughed. “All right, all right. Mr. Toast, what more are you capable of?
“Well, I can make the perfect toast—crispy, not too brown, with just the right crunch,” the toaster said with pride. However, I’m also a really good vocalist.
“A toaster that sings?” Jill chuckled. “Show me!”
The little melody the toaster started humming soon evolved into a jazzy version of “Pop Goes the Weasel.”
When Jill’s mother came back, she was dancing about the kitchen and laughing uncontrollably. Naturally, the toaster had returned to its primary function of creating toast.
Jill never again burnt her toast after that day.
