The blue ball with no mouth

Previously

…The spatula nodded enthusiastically. “Agreed!” The toaster hummed its approval. “A fair compromise. Though I do believe we need to discuss the provenance of jam.” I rolled my eyes, but a small smile tugged at my lips. This was my life now. Negotiating with sentient kitchenware. All thanks to a blue ball with no mouth. I looked at the Tupperware container. The blue ball’s pulsing had slowed. It seemed to be… contemplating its crisps. Or perhaps, contemplating the vast, un-liberated universe beyond my kitchen window. For now, though, it was contained. And my toast, at least, was no longer demanding butter with philosophical justifications. It was just… toast. For now.