Methuselah's Microwave

I hate my microwave.

We bought it when my daughter was 12 and she will be 26 this year.

The first day we got it she decided to make popcorn and instead of setting it for 3 minutes, hit the timer for 30.

Jiffy Pop disaster.

Let’s just say it almost involved a call to the fire department and the inside of the new microwave turned black.

It never fully recovered.

It has one of those turning carousels inside that turn the little glass plate for warming up stuff and because it is so old, it has broken through to the metal and makes this creaky sound like a wagon wheel whenever you use it.

Plus it takes forever to heat your food cuz it was manufactured by Methuselah and skews my microwave sensibility whenever I use one that is not prehistoric.

Thus I always think the ones at work take 10 minutes to heat up a frozen food item that says 2 minutes on the box.

This produces a plethora of meals with incinerated entrees and blistered break goodies.

I try to bring healthy stuff to work for lunch and am always amazed at the varied varieties of lunch box fare.

There are the weight conscious gals with their nutritious salads and lowfat yogurt.

Then there are the people with the rib sticking homemade stuff that makes all of us frozen food lazies drool with jealousy.

And then there are people like me.

I usually have the lunch of a four year old.

I am lucky if I throw together a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and a sandwich bag of oreo cookies.

On a really ambitious day I may have a tuna sandwich.

This is a big deal as it involves opening a can and draining off the juice.

 I can never accomplish this without squirting some of it on my shirt or in my eye.

Then you walk around smelling like a “catch of the day” from Red Lobster.

On the rare occasion when I cook dinner, (which happens as often as Halley’s Comet flies through the sky), I put some leftovers in a container and proudly produce the home made marvel for my fellow co-workers to envy and covet.

And immediately burn it to a crisp in the high powered microwave in the break room.

It’s not my fault.

I’m microwave time judgment impaired.

As I said before, I hate my microwave.

……..I’m just sayin’