March 27, 2003


I got a new teakettle because I melted the old one in a horrible Three Mile Island incident. I put it on the stove, forgot about it for a couple hours, went downstairs to grab a sandwich, and lo and behold I had a glowing fuel rod melted all over the stove. Whoops.

The new guy whistles, so there will never again be a risk of losing another teakettle to scatterbraining. However, I’ve made tea a couple times, now, and every time the whistle scares the hell out of me. It’s really loud and sounds like a Portal to the Damned is opening up every time the water boils. I pull the kettle off the stove to stop the racket and the whistle gurgles into blissful silence.

I should really feel grateful that the sound stops when I intervene, but I can’t help feeling that every time I choke off the teakettle I’m killing it. Maybe I’m suffering from survivor’s guilt from the previous incident.