Did you ever ask yourself who makes that hot water on demand from the little faucet with the red dot on it that you paid a lot of extra $$ for because you told Dmitri and Demetrius and Demy and Debi that you had to have it, because you didn’t have time to boil water in a kettle or god forbid do that stupid thing with the hot water in the Pyrex measuring cup in the microwave (which reminds you of that other time – the really silly time – where you said let’s just put this raw egg in the microwave and see WHAT HAPPENS)? Did you wonder just how it is that the imps and elves and goblins and geeks and fairies and ghosts and little vampires and werewolvettes can bear those long hours standing under the floorboards of the kitchen laboring over that huge (size being relative) cauldron while the unicorns come in with the bundles of wood that they got from the donkeys who walked all the way up the 405 from Mexico where they got the really good wood for the very hot fires which you need to make the really good tortillas not those stupid ones that they make on 3rd street and then call them gourmet. Because it’s the goblins and the ghosties keeping that water hot so when you tell Joanne to help herself to the hot water, she goes and pushes on that little faucet and down below all hell breaks loose, because it’s time to fire up the cauldron and stoke the fires and heat up the water which comes of course from mermaid’s tears, so the fishtail girls are also there in the corners of this down below place underneath the kitchen crying into plastic containers which are then dumped into the cauldron and I’m just saying we’re just saying that hot water on demand is questionable rather, because who makes the demand and who answers it and is it really easy, or is it just invisible? So you ask yourself that, as you sip cold water made from no one’s tears, at least you don’t think so, but as you sip you wonder. You wonder.
(with thanks to Dave Kronenfeld who asked a question about on demand hot water)
Categories: Art and Literature