Hell-bent on time

I am hell-bent on destroying inanimate objects. Like a lightning-rod for my wrath, one class of things becomes the vent for my rage.

Take, for example, the lowly kitchen timer. An innocent household utensil, correct? But no! The kitchen timer is the bane of my existence. I curse you kitchen timer!

The first kitchen timer I surreptitiously destroyed was a classic blue turn-knob egg timer. I knocked it off of every surface it found itself upright on. On top of the kitchen counter--shazzam--on the floor! On top of the microwave, oh, you thought you could hide from me there--fwack--on the floor! Over by the sink? I don't think so--bleck--on the floor!

What I learned from my wanton annihilation of the egg timer is that the blue timer face is just a simple knob that you can pop back onto the mechanism�if you can find it. The knobby part will fly all over the place, but the timer mechanism is easy to find because of the built in bell. It makes a lot of noise when it hits the floor. After severe damage, the egg timer will often still work if you turn the knob past 10 and then set it to the time you need. But, after three years of my abuse and a few years of semi-retirement, even the bravest blue egg timer must give in.

"Where's the other timer?" Matthew asks.

"Mm. It's really dead now. It doesn't work at all. I think I threw it away, or it's on top of the fridge."

Which brings us to the digital kitchen timer. A state of the art timing machine from Williams-Sonoma, this early Christmas gift from a few years back has withstood significant trial at my hands. It has a magnetic back, so I keep it high up on the refrigerator, mwah-ha-hah, which means it has much farther to fall to hit the ground. There's a crack in the plastic face, and every once in a while it freaks out and the timer won't accept instructions about counting up or down, but for the most part, it has been a worthy adversary. Not so weak as the puny old timer, but not so simple to doctor after a calamity either.

If the battery cover flies off during a fall, I have to search all over for the triple-A battery and white plastic hinged cover. I'm surprised I still have all the pieces. Sometimes after a bad fall, it helps to remove the battery and let the digital mechanism reset itself. I usually let it rest for a while under the theory that it's had a bad day and deserves a break.

Kitchen timer incidents are so common in our household now that when I make a terrible clatter and Matthew asks, "What was that?" The simple answer "Egg timer" suffices.

Why do I want to destroy all the timers? I don't know. It's a good question though. When I get desperate and need to use the microwave as a timer, will I break it? Will I knock it off the counter every time I set "Timer-minute-plus thirty"� I hope not. I bet it would make a much bigger mess than the flying knob of the little blue egg timer that couldn't.