Once upon a summer when a seasonal worker needed to borrow a temporary residence, we lent out our travel trailer. At season's end the trailer came home more furnished than when it left us. I returned the library books Mr. Seasonal had borrowed, tossed the leftover food that remained, kept the audio-cassette player left behind (I'm old enough to still own audio cassettes and I know how to use them), and claimed the brand-new looking George Foreman grill for The Precious.
The Precious is quite the chef with this handy appliance. He grills sandwiches, cooks hash browns, toasts buns and makes hot dogs. He uses his fancy gadget for snacks, breakfasts, snacks, lunches, snacks, dinners, snacks, and midnight...snacks.
There are only two problems with The Precious's use of this sweet little specimen of convenience. He never remembers to put it away, and he never remembers what it's called. So this is what I hear, all day long:
The Precious: "Mama, I'm getting out the Bob Dylan grill."
Pixie: "The Precious, I'm trying to clean up the kitchen. Put away the Patrick Stewart."
Lefty: "Wait, I brought home a panini from work and I want to heat it up in the Jim Parsons."
Treasure: "You mean the Rebel Wilson?"
Angel Doll: "Get the Jeremy Renner out of my way."
Hunneypunkin: "Are you talking about the life-size cardboard cutout, or the grill?"
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