Biting The Hands That Made You

This morning I woke early and crept out of bed, trying hard not to wake wifey.  Today however, it was as though everything I touched had conspired against me.  As though they had held a secret meeting.

Every hinge, switch and  microwave beep seemed infinitely louder than the morning before.  I found myself humanising our home’s inanimate objects.  Pleading with the bathroom door to close quietly.  Leaving gifts of an extra long rinse and absolutely no paste drips at the altar of my electric toothbrush.  Cursing audibly at my beard trimmer stand, who with the help of its plethora of trimming guards and impractically small combs, had morphed into a percussion instrument.

I guess it’s my own fault.  It was I who breathed life and personality into this unruly collection of alloys and electronics.  Power corrupts and familiarity breeds contempt!  This morning proved that.  Underneath every beep, crash and bang I am sure I could hear them sniggering, much as my old Alfa GTV would snigger on the hard shoulder of the M20.

I can’t help it though.  When a car is driving as it should, or remote is eliminating the need to rise from the sofa, or a cork screw is helping me get to that red, they are all simply objects.  As soon as they start misbehaving, I begin to assign them personalities.  Patterns in their malfunction, become idiosyncrasies.

Perhaps they want recognition, or appreciation.  Maybe they’ve realised that to get this, they have to show me their dark sides; after all you can only really appreciate the sweet, after you have tasted the bitter.

I won’t take them for granted any longer.  On the way home tonight I’ll tap the Audi for a job well done.  I’ll stroke the PC when it fires up still holding my life in its drives.  I’ll wink at the microwave after it delivers my heated meal with a modest ‘ping’, hoping they’ll all be appeased and tomorrow will be quieter.


About The Other Me

Londoner born and raised. Living in Denmark. Occasional singer/songwriter, music fan, nearly author, recovering procrastinator. To read or listen to the amateur stuff I call my art, click on the picture and press the links to either my FB, Wordpress or bandcamp pages. Thanks
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2 Responses to Biting The Hands That Made You

  1. Marianna says:

    Hi Sean,
    Funny, wise and a joy to read.
    Maybe the possessed becomes the possessor? 🙂

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