When Elian and I got married, we got a toaster oven. He already had a toaster, but I convinced him we needed a toaster oven. That was nearly 4 years ago. I use our toaster oven for all my toasting needs. Elian only uses the toaster oven for his small oven needs; he still uses the toaster for his toasting needs.
I don’t know why, you’ll have to ask him.
Anyway, Elian only feels the need to toast about once a year. The other 364 days of the year the toaster just sits on our counter collecting dust and taking up space.
Tonight Elian decided to engage in his annual toasting. He put his bread in, smelled something funny, let the bread continue to cook, and waited for the bread to pop up as toast. I came downstairs and immediately smelled something was wrong. I began to investigate and noticed my husband had made toast in the toaster.
Kelly: “Something smells weird.”
Elian: “I know. I used the toaster. There must be something in there burning.”
Kelly: “It doesn’t smell like food. It smells like rubber.”
My husband pushed the toast button down again. Apparently he thought this would help us decipher what was behind the unpleasant odor. I peered in the toaster and saw a rubber band. Upon further inspection I concluded it was one of my hair bands. I verbalized my find, and told Elian to stop the toasting.
I have no idea how my hair band got in the toaster (or when, for that matter), but I blame Lexi. Not because she is tall enough to reach the toaster (she’s not), but because she was already in bed and couldn’t defend herself.