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The Bagel Didn't Fit

by David C. Kopaska-Merkel

They held a wake for the toaster. I didn't participate. The cutlery served as ushers and all the glassware and most of the ceramics participated. Didn't tell them a wake doesn't need ushers. I can let some errors ride. The microwave gave the eulogy. All about how they had been neighbors, and that even though the toaster tended to be a bit rigid in his views, she felt that at bottom he was a good soul. It went on for a very long time.

"When are you guys going to be done?" I said, "because I'm feeling a bit hungry." If looks could kill! One of the juice glasses, the "Land Before Time" one with Sarah on it, actually started to cry.

"It was an accident!" I said.

"How could you be so insensitive!?" one of the Mexican bowls gasped. She fanned herself and hyperventilated: "I need some air." I tried to lift her up to the window sill, but she shied away like I might drop her.

"Well, I'll get something from a restaurant. Don't wait up." A chilly silence followed me outdoors.

The van was surly. "You know, Jack," she said, "you can be a real jerk."

"Yeah, sorry," I said. "Let's go to Taco Bell." At least she drove me over there. I was half afraid that she would refuse. I went through the drive-through. At the order panel I asked for a couple of chicken soft tacos and a margarita.

"What? I can't hear you! You'll have to go back through the line."

I repeated myself. I shouted. I used words of one syllable. The panel seemed to understand less each time, almost like it wasn't listening. "What's the matter with that thing?"

"Word travels fast. She just married a toaster," the van replied. "Maybe a human wouldn't understand."

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