Mildred Buttercup, a woman whose wardrobe rivaled an artist's color palette and whose laugh sparkled with lingering sweetness, slammed a buttered slice of toast onto the table, the force making all remnants of the table jump in shock .
"That blasted time toaster is at it again!" she declared, her voice a well-rehearsed blend of indignation and amusement.
Her companion, Reginald Shugapy, - a man whose moustache held more crumbs than his breakfast plate, and has a dry brown lip that seemed like a table that held the remaining crumbs that fell from the moustach, - peered at the toast.
It wasn't burnt, exactly. More… toasted unevenly. One half bore the golden glow of perfect breakfast fare, the other a charcoal tribute to a comet's fiery demise.
*"Seems like you sent it on a dreary trip through a black hole," Reginald chuckled, pushing his spectacles further up his nose.
Mildred who wasn't one to be outdone in the eccentricity department furrowed her brows.
"This isn't funny, Reginald. This is a culinary crisis! My breakfasts have become a game of toast roulette."
Theirs was a friendship forged in the fires of – well, not fire exactly, but a malfunctioning toaster they'd both inherited from their eccentric ain't Naomi. The contraption, a chrome monstrosity with a single, flickering red knob, defied all laws of toasting. It could turn a bagel into a warm hug one day and vaporize a teacake the next.
Undeterred, Mildred, ever the optimist (and a woman who wouldn't be defeated by burnt bread), decided to fight back. Armed with a well-worn copy of "The Toaster's magic" (a surprisingly popular, if slightly deranged, self-help book from aunt Naomi as well), a roll of duct tape, and a determined glint in her eye, she declared war on the rogue appliance.
After a full night of battle, she woke up to their tiny kitchen resembling a mad scientist's laboratory. Sporting a pair of goggles and a lab coat, strategically placed strips of duct tape to the toaster's heating elements. She got ready to plot the next avenue of attack.
The sceptical Reginald watched on with a mixture of amusement and apprehension, occasionally flinching at the sparks that flew from the toaster when Mildred "calibrated" it with a screwdriver.
Their efforts were met with… mixed results. The first slice emerged a perfect golden brown, causing them to erupt in cheers. The second slice, however, seemed to have gone in reverse fashion, from refined gold to raw gold. The third slice, inexplicably, burst out of the machine, flying it's way directly at the windows and taking shelter on the curtains.
The battle line had been drawn all night, and now it was being exceeded, and she was on the losing end of the fight. She looked across at Reginald and wondered what was amusing to that 'moustachioed punk'.
"What's funny, Pinocchio"? She snarled furiously
"it's time we let it rest in peace, don't you think?" he replied drawing meditatively at his moustache
"and use what to fill that?" she said pointing at his paunch
"well, Penelope has one with a minor issue that she isn't using anymore. I'm sure she'd be glad to dispense of it."
"Penelope huh?.... And how did you become acquainted with that information" she queried suspiciously
"can we stay on the toaster 'topic' please?" he retorted, wincing.
Later that evening, their neighbor arrived at their doorstep, a young woman named Penelope with the spoiled toaster. Mildred sceptically accepted the toaster as she saw an opportunity for a breakfast revolution. Reginald, ever the romantic, saw a chance to finally impress Penelope with his (admittedly limited) knowledge of poetry.
Together, they embarked on a collaborative toasting mission. Penelope had stayed back to witness the famous magical Mildred hands (according to Reginald). Mildred, armed with her ever-present duct tape, tinkered with the toaster's insides.
Reginald, drawing on his love of limericks (which Penelope, bless her heart, seemed to find endearing), sputtered out poetic suggestions, which the result surprised him. About an hour later, the toaster whirred to life, and the first slice of bread emerged, lightly toasted.
Penelope, her eyes wide with wonder, declared it a culinary masterpiece. Reginald looking from under his spectacles winked at her, wondering at the whirring thoughts of "what he could do to her" inside his head. Mildred stood triumphantly with a smile tugging at the corners of her lips, her figure flashing the picture of a heroine who've just conquered her life's greatest challenge.
Penelope bid them farewell and just as she closed the door behind her, Mildred turned squarely to Reginald.
"Now, how did you get to know about Penelope's toaster?" she resumed
Reginald sighed, knowing it's going to be another long night, because of a toaster, again.
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