Don’t Judge Me
We judge people all the time.
We judge ourselves as well. Even though none of that should take place. We aren’t here to judge one another. We are here to live and laugh and love.
But mostly to love. Well, that, and to judge. What fun would life (and the laughter) be if we couldn’t judge the actions of others?
Some of them are quite funny. Especially when they are done by politicians. But let’s shine the light a little closer to home, shall we?
Most of us aren’t running for office. But most of us are running something much closer to home, more specifically in the kitchen.
Even more specifically, the microwave oven. According to the bureau of labor statistics (which apparently keeps statistics on such things) more than nine out of 10 U.S. households owns a microwave oven.
Which leaves at least 90 percent of us open to judgment. Ahem.
Here goes: What does the inside of your microwave look like? That’s right. You heard me. Get ready to face the truth, because the truth lives in the hidden places we don’t want others to see. That’s where you can measure the substance of your character.
Or perhaps, better put, the substance of your leftovers. Therein lies the microwave. We all know food spatters and splatters while heating inside the confines of that handy zapping unit sitting atop your range or counter. We all know.
And we all know that covering food before heating it in the microwave is the adultly responsible thing to do. We all know.
But sometimes we get lazy. Sometimes the people living with us get lazy, or just careless (most often in the late hours of the evening, if I might add my own two cents here).
Then, you know what the smart among us might say: Splatter happens. It all seems find and handy at 11:00 pm when the leftover chili is calling your name and your stomach is practically screaming. It all seems forgivable to put the bowl of chili in the microwave, sans cover, and press the three-minute quick-heat button. Beans be damned!
After that we all know it’s just toast - in the worst of ways, and without the peanut butter.
At 11:00 pm it’s all food and games, but come morning, you find yourself confronted with reality and regret and exploded bean guts. So many, many bean guts.
If you are the responsible person you truly want yourself to be, you will scrub the spattered walls of your microwave before lunchtime. But that takes effort, not to mention time away from your morning coffee. And time is precious - not to mention money.
So, sometimes we might, in our weakest of moments, simply drink the coffee and ignore the interior of the microwave. After all, it is practically invisible, unless you are peering directly into it and who does that except you?
So if you come over someday and have a need to reheat your coffee and I forget and let you do it yourself and you see the inside of my microwave and you happen to notice some splatter effects in there that look quite a bit like bean guts, please don’t judge me.
It’s not my fault. I blame it on my kids. It might not be the cleanest of excuses, but I’m sticking to that like bean guts to the innards of a microwave.
Jill Pertler is an award-winning syndicated columnist, published playwright and author. Don’t miss a slice; follow the Slices of Life page on Facebook.
