I broke the kettle
It was a long time overdue.
It seems that, although I score fairly high academically, I am utterly incapable of keeping track of a boiling kettle. I can’t even count the number of times I’ve turned on the kettle, forgotten about it and let it boil dry, only to wonder to myself, hours later, why the kitchen is filled with steam and I can hear a dry hissing sound. The cupboard doors are covered in condensation and, on occasion, it’s begun to drip down onto the counter. It is a miracle I haven’t started a fire. And it’s phenomenal that this kettle has lasted as long as it has.
So the other day, as per usual, I forgot about the kettle and let the damn thing boil dry for about two hours. Upon discovering my mistake, I quickly unplugged it and, naturally, “let it rest”. The next day, I plugged it in (with water in it) and it began to boil. This time, I did a rare thing, and I did not forget about it. I could hear the water begin to boil. I walked into the kitchen and as I approached the kettle, it seemed to stop. It stopped boiling without me unplugging it. Oh oh, I thought to myself. I guess that’s it. I’ve been boiling on borrowed time.
As a test, I plugged the kettle in again and waited. And I waited and I waited. I watched and waited and the kettle wouldn’t boil. Dead.
As a second test, the next day when the kettle was cold, I plugged it in again. I waited and I waited. I watched and waited and the kettle wouldn’t boil. Done like dinner.
Later that day, Mark went to make himself tea. I watched him grab the kettle.
“Um…” I began, “I may have broken the kettle.”
He looked at me sideways. It might be fair to say that the reason I haven’t burnt the house down is in part due to Mark discovering dehydrated kettles-in-distress.
“Did it break because you let it boil dry?”
“Actually…” I said indignantly, “It had water in it when it broke.” Not a lie.
“You’re sure it’s broken?” he asked.
“Yes, I tested it.”
He plugged it in.
“…two times…” I added.
He waited and I prepared myself to proudly withhold an “I told you so”.
Then the stupid thing began to sigh. That kettle started to blow steam. And then it began to gurgle.
It was a long time overdue.
It seems that, although I score fairly high academically, I am utterly incapable of keeping track of a boiling kettle. I can’t even count the number of times I’ve turned on the kettle, forgotten about it and let it boil dry, only to wonder to myself, hours later, why the kitchen is filled with steam and I can hear a dry hissing sound. The cupboard doors are covered in condensation and, on occasion, it’s begun to drip down onto the counter. It is a miracle I haven’t started a fire. And it’s phenomenal that this kettle has lasted as long as it has.
So the other day, as per usual, I forgot about the kettle and let the damn thing boil dry for about two hours. Upon discovering my mistake, I quickly unplugged it and, naturally, “let it rest”. The next day, I plugged it in (with water in it) and it began to boil. This time, I did a rare thing, and I did not forget about it. I could hear the water begin to boil. I walked into the kitchen and as I approached the kettle, it seemed to stop. It stopped boiling without me unplugging it. Oh oh, I thought to myself. I guess that’s it. I’ve been boiling on borrowed time.
As a test, I plugged the kettle in again and waited. And I waited and I waited. I watched and waited and the kettle wouldn’t boil. Dead.
As a second test, the next day when the kettle was cold, I plugged it in again. I waited and I waited. I watched and waited and the kettle wouldn’t boil. Done like dinner.
Later that day, Mark went to make himself tea. I watched him grab the kettle.
“Um…” I began, “I may have broken the kettle.”
He looked at me sideways. It might be fair to say that the reason I haven’t burnt the house down is in part due to Mark discovering dehydrated kettles-in-distress.
“Did it break because you let it boil dry?”
“Actually…” I said indignantly, “It had water in it when it broke.” Not a lie.
“You’re sure it’s broken?” he asked.
“Yes, I tested it.”
He plugged it in.
“…two times…” I added.
He waited and I prepared myself to proudly withhold an “I told you so”.
Then the stupid thing began to sigh. That kettle started to blow steam. And then it began to gurgle.
I guess I didn’t break the kettle after all.
2 comments:
I noticed you registered for a kettle. Does it come with automatic shut-off?t
A small kettle whistle that will let you know when it is boiling will cost you about fifty cents:)
Post a Comment