It was well and truly turning into one of those days. The coffee was talking to Illia, begging for mercy, explaining the many and detailed reasons it shouldn’t be consumed. The coffee maker, for its part, had protested the entire time it had been percolating, about how it did everything in these parts and the tea kettle wasn’t pulling its fair share of the culinary weight in the household, and the toaster oven was so lazy it only came out for special occasions. And the microwave tried to kill the cauliflower with a set of dull and rusty knives. Again.