Greg stared at the toaster, its red light blinking like a dying heartbeat. The bread had been in there for 12 minutes. ‘Come on, you piece of $%&*!’) he yelled, smacking the side. The toaster sputtered, spitting out a charred slug that smelled like regret.
His date, Jenna, leaned against the doorway, eyebrow raised. ‘You’re making breakfast? I thought you said you were a ‘culinary genius.’
‘I am!’ Greg defended, tossing the blackened bread into the trash. ‘This is just… a minor setback.’ He yanked open the toaster again, revealing a half-melted slice stuck in the heating element.
Jenna snorted. ‘That’s not toast. That’s a fossil.’
Greg ignored her, grabbing a hairdryer from the cabinet. ‘I’ll just… reheat it.’ He pointed the nozzle at the bread, which immediately burst into blue flames.
‘OH GOD, THE FIRE ALARM!’ Jenna screamed, swatting at the ceiling as a shrill wail filled the apartment. Greg lunged for the toaster, accidentally unplugging it and causing a spark that lit the curtains.
By the time the fire department arrived, the only thing remaining was a single slice of bread, perfectly toasted, sitting on the windowsill like a tiny, smug victory. Jenna was gone. The firefighters stared at Greg. ‘Sir,’ one said, ‘we need to talk about your relationship with appliances.’
