Hey, girl. Curling up for a movie? We used to do that, once. I’ll never forget the night I picked you up. Movie night. The dead of winter. I was the bad boy who caught your attention when you were feeling a little lonely. You pushed my buttons, and I pushed yours right back. Pushed your buttons so hard that the microwavable popcorn I was supposed to take care of caught fire and set the fire alarm off. So hard that the alarm caused your entire apartment building to evacuate. So hard that you had to go outside in your pajamas to talk to the fire department.
What can I say? I’m a bad boy with a possible product recall. You trusted me, but I’m not a button that can be trusted. But, girl, how about one more night?
Girl, I promise I won’t do what I did again. You can trust me this time, toots. You’re my old flame and my popcorn-induced fire hazard days are in the past. Since our big blow up, I’ve gotten a bad rep around the kitchen island. No one wants to give the popcorn button any love anymore. And you know what? I don’t blame them. So, I’ve started looking at my own microwave window reflection, babe, and have had a lot of time to ponder and think. Every time you defrost your fish in the microwave, I think about how that could be me. You could be eating popcorn, but you’re scared. Even the microwaveable popcorn bag instructions say not to use me. But they don’t know what we had together – the electromagnetic connection we shared.
Seeing you getting your popcorn through other means drives me wild. Don’t tell me you’ve moved on completely from our two-and-a-half to four-minute bursts together? You can’t say we didn’t have sparks. We both know that bag of Skinny Pop is nothing to the hot, buttery popcorn and cholesterol-destroying impact I could provide. Popcorn on the stovetop? Isn’t he a little too old for you? And that 15-year-old making your popcorn at the movie theater – is that even legal? We both know you crave a little bit more danger, risk, and salt.
What hurts the most is that you have the audacity to use other buttons right in front of me. Potato? Really, babe? You know me and them have never gotten along and you’ve heard me vent about how he’s always been the trustworthy one of all the buttons. I don’t have to tell you about the lack of job security I have, seeing how many Lean Cuisines you’ve been reheating lately. This is my only job! I have nothing else to live for except to pop your popcorn! I thought I’d be unique specializing in popcorn, but I couldn’t satisfy you nor have the versatility of my neighbor the “reheat” button.
I know one thing’s for sure: You’re never going to find someone like me so deeply connected into your home, through wires and emotions. I’ll always be waiting for you from slightly above your eye-level. Baby, I know I’m clearly depressed and have let myself go; I’m splattered in moldy crumbs waiting for you. Each beep you hear is my heart beating fast for you. Every time you heat up your food and stare deeply into my soul as you watch the glass table turn like it’s the circle of life, you’ll see me. Until that day where you’re ready to go back to your old self, the daredevil risk-taker, I’ll be waiting for you.
Oh God, who am I kidding? Please take me back. I know I’ve pushed your buttons before but you’ve stopped pushing mine. I can feel myself losing power and the ability to feel each day without your warm touch.
So please, I’m popping the question one more time: Will you give me another chance?
