The toaster sobbed like its very heat element was broken. The electric frypan reached a handle out and laid it sympathetically on it's side.

"I'm sorry," said the refrigerator in a cracked ice voice. "It was just that you were always so, well, happy."

"You guys don't know what it's like to be me. All people care about is how fast you are or that you don't get stuck when they jam a bagel with raisins in your slot."

"No one ever says, 'Hey, you wouldn't believe the toast I had this morning. Magnifique! No. They just grab what you've lovingly prepared for breakfast and run out the door."