Conversations with Inanimate Things

Ugh. Know what I hate about having the sun come out after weeks of modestly keeping to itself behind the clouds? I see all the accumulations of dust and griminess that I could ignore when the light was a little dimmer, and after being compelled to wash the kitchen curtains, I’m dusting the top side of the window frames which nobody can see anyway, and I run the dust into the high corners where webby things proliferate and over the smoke alarm in the kitchen and that bugger starts beeping and saying, yes, in words “Replace batteries in the kitchen.”

And that’s a cool technology, right? There are some things that are distinctly nag worthy, and batteries in smoke alarms count. However, we have built some redundancy into the system, with smoke alarms in every room (including one with the unfortunate feature of being testable with any remote control in the living room where small people aim remote controls rather wildly) and they all take 9 volt batteries which I never have extras of stocked up and I am home with a sick kid not really into taking him shopping (which may be what got me into the cleaning things that really didn’t need cleaning anyway).

So all morning I listen to the smoke alarm beep and and repeat “Replace batteries in kitchen” thinking I am stubborn and can outlast its dying batteries, and start fantasizing the things the small appliances in my house would say equipped with the same technology. My coffee maker cutting me off, the television gently suggesting I watch something education for a change, or maybe go read a book. The refrigerator telling me that that salad mix I paid too much for with the best of intentions last week, remember that? Well it’s now or never, baby. The dishwasher politely requesting emptying. You know the technology exists, but that it would quickly turn us all into small-appliance-bashing luddites. I guess I am going to go look for some batteries now.