The Columnist Manifesto

Would it really be Spring without falling in love? Passionate, head-over-heels, life-will-never-be-the-same love? Love that makes you realize how, before, you were just settling for something that was not good enough. New love that makes you feel like love itself is something new?

I'm in love.


For over two years, since we first drove the car off the new car lot, the wiper blades weren't quite right. If the rain was anything lighter than a downpour, they would make a dry-rubber-on-glass scraping sound like the World's Loudest Snoring. They would leave blurry streaks making it particularly hard to see in bad weather.

I thought, "that's just the way it is with this car." But we finally got the wiper blades replaced and I now know that it should always have been like this. They wipe the windshield clear as... well, glass, I guess. And they sound like butter.

The toaster oven we knew was no good. It didn't have a warning bell to let you know the toast was done. There was a light that would silently flicker off and, unless you just sat there and stared at it, your toast could get cold before your realized it was even toast. Eventually the old toaster started to break down -- chunks of plastic broke and fell off the nobs, and finally the door would not stay shut unless you propped it shut with a Rube Goldberg alignment of kitchen implements.

When we finally got our butts into Target -- a real ordeal for us -- to replace it, we walked out with a toaster oven that proved to be no good. (I should have been tipped off by the company name, "Euro-Trash.") Its instruction manual confessed that it did not actually toast your slice of bread, but would instead slowly bake it for nine minutes until crisp. Nine minutes for a lousy piece of toast! What an outrage to use the name "toaster"!

The so-called " 'toaster' oven" went right back into its packaging and sat in our home until -- the days turned into weeks -- we could work up the nerve to go back to Target.

What we finally brought home was worth the wait. It sits in the corner, trim, unobtrusive, but kind of cute when you look at it. Its timer not only has a warning bell, but also makes a comforting ticking sound, as if to say: "Don't worry! I've got it all under control!"

I now understand that my relationships with my old wiper blades and toaster oven were abusive. They are behind me now. I feel reborn.