I am used to Their Imperial Majesties, the cats, bossing me around.

From time to time the spousal unit has been known to tell me how to live my life and I have resigned myself to that, as well.

But an appliance?

As my three loyal readers might recall, a while back our ancient microwave, Nukezilla, went to the Big Appliance Recycling Center in the Sky. For decades that machine and I had a happy relationship--it would heat my food, beep to let me know the food was ready and then go about its business.

It knew I was an adult.

It knew I would get my food when I was ready.

There Was Respect.

My new microwave disses me. My new microwave feels it is the boss of me. We Are Locked In A Power Struggle. It is not pretty.

I got my first glimmers of this microwave's attitude earlier this week. For lunch I put in it some leftover Thai curry and rice, punched in a time and decided that while things were reheating I'd fill the birdfeeder that's in front of the kitchen window.

Out I went. As the sunflower seeds slid down the tube, I could hear the microwave announcing that its task was completed. I decided to fill another feeder.

The microwave had other plans. After a short pause, It Beeped At Me Again! "So, are you getting your food or what?" it seemed to be saying. The nerve. I ignored it. I went about filling the second feeder.

People, IT BEEPED AT ME AGAIN AND THIS TIME NOT A SINGLE DISCREET BEEP BUT TWO CONSECUTIVE BEEPS! "So, Dimwit, about that food," it seemed to be taunting.

I ignored it. Another pause.

IT BEEPED AT ME. AGAIN. AGAIN WITH THE TWO BEEPS. Oh, you might think that a mechanical thing made up of gears and circuit boards cannot sneer, but I am here to tell you that oh, yes, it can. It's all in the intonation. "So, Marn, is this some kind of senior moment, this leaving food in the microwave dealie?" was the general gist of those beeps.

Don't you just hate it when a machine is sarcastic with you?

At that point I went in to eat the leftover Thai curry. But let the record show that the incessant nagging of my microwave had no influence on my decision at all. This was just me satiating hunger.

Look, I'll admit that I'm the cats' peon. I will even go so far as to say that from time to time I am the spousal unit's dogsbody, but I do have a line in the sand. I refuse, absolutely REFUSE, to ever let a machine be the boss of me.

The NERVE of that microwave.

You know, when I was buying that machine several factors came into the decision--price, warranty, and design were all considered. I had a fairly detailed discussion with the store clerk about the features of the various machines in stock, how reliable certain brands were. But there was one question I forgot to ask and it looks like it's going to haunt me for years.

If you're thinking about buying a microwave, don't make my mistake. Sure, price, warranty and design all matter, but don't forget to ask, "Is this one of those moody, nagging microwaves?"

It's too late for me, but maybe one of you can learn from my pain.

--Marn

Mileage on the Marnometer: 346.13 miles (557 kilometers)
Goal for 2003: 500 miles - 804.5 kilometers