How come the Brave Little Toaster movies never starred a coffee pot?

Prompt: “8. Write from the point of view of a household item. Then write a dialogue between yourself and the item.”

Tucked in a little nook between the toaster and the sugar canister, I can’t always see beyond the side of the microwave or the mealtime clutter that accumulates on my front lawn – which, I realize, is prime real estate in a kitchen with limited counter space. But in spite of my narrow view, I can see one thing very clearly, and that is that I am your favorite. You are nothing without me.

You are often frowning when I first see you in the morning, running the sink, replacing the grounds in my basket with fresh ones. To be honest, I wish you would do this a little sooner and not let the old, soggy ones sit there overnight, but I understand that you are a tired, busy person and that I am here to serve. Anyway, the obvious adoration in your eyes when the last of my caffeinated nectar trickles into the pot and my warming unit switches on makes the slight abuse worth its while, because I know I am your favorite.

“Put a little more in there, love,” I advise, seeing that you are about to put away the scoop.

“Yeah, you’re right.” You add more grounds to the basket.

“Ah,” I remark as the water begins to process. “New flavor today? These taste fresh.”

“I went shopping.”

“You’ll like this one, I think. A nice medium roast, not too bitter. Earthy and spicy. Not like that weird pumpkin crap you used to shove through my filter day after day.”

“Ugh. I hated that one.”

“Me too, darling.” With a sputter, I push the last of the water into the basket. You reach, clenching and unclenching your hand, waiting for the final drop, not wanting to waste a bit of it. “All right, hold your horses. I’m done. Use the plain milk with this one; the Irish creme will ruin it.”

“Thanks, coffee pot.”

Don’t mention it. You couldn’t live without me.

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