Relationships are complicated, unkay?

Maybe it's my current state of semi-coping with chronic pain, or maybe I've always been this way. Maybe, because my little world is still just that, it's gotten worse, but it was a trait I always had. Maybe it's the name? Yep, I'm talking about betrayal again and the culprit is he who has betrayed me before -- the Breadman.

First, last week's incident: I was on the phone with Aunt Grace, and she was rhapsodizing about how great it is that I make my own bread. In my family women have (objectively speaking) few domestic skills beyond overcooking by flame or water, with the exception of beef which is eaten almost raw. So to my female relatives, this bread baking thing is amazing, even though I use a machine to do it.

Anyway, back to the incident. Just as Aunt Grace got to the part where maybe I should bring the Breadman down to New Jersey at Thanksgiving, I looked through his domed top to see a loaf that had crashed in the middle. Betrayal? I think so.
Next was the loaf that looked like marble on the outside, crumbled a bit when removed from the machine, and I've just found out, is raw in the middle.

I hope these incidents are not related to my tendency to fetishize the Breadman as a sort of Al Green, Barry White, Petey Greene embodiment of male hubris, of fickleness, of a misogyny I'm endorsing by singing "Can't Get Enough of Your Love, Baby" as I measure ingredients. Such behavior seems a little racist even, but it's that damn name, I suppose. He da Breadman, after all.

The problem with all this is that now I want nothing more than to run the Breadman over with the car -- repeatedly. If I were still in Idaho I could take him out for target practice, but I sold my last gun five years ago before I moved to New York (Ruger .22 caliber for any gun fans out there. Yes, a semiautomatic, yes technically sort of an assault rifle, yes I know I'm in a peace group).

So I think it's time (and if you don't agree with me you're nuttier than I am) to take a step back, to sort of redefine the relationship. I'm not trying any more for now. Maybe since Catherine and Mikey are coming tomorrow, one of them would like to step in? Try to get the Bman to see that his days might be numbered if he doesn't . . . well I'm not even gonna finish that sentence.

Love hate appliance relationships. Anybody willing to describe yours? Yeah, maybe it'll make you sound like a nutjob, but at least I went first.

Happy Monday

P.S.: Breadman, if you read this post, I really didn't mean it honey. I was just venting.