WhirrrrrRRRrRRrRrrRRRrr-
“I think you broke the blender,” Nico sighed, hands clapped over his ears to block out the loud grinding noise.
“No, it’s fine,” Caroline said, flicking it off and peering at the foamy, half-blended concoction.
“Does it always smell like burning plastic?”
Caroline glared at him. “I’ll have you know this blender has stood by me for six years, ever since college, and hasn’t quit yet.”
“I think it just might have. Do everyone a favor, and just put it out of its misery.”
“You have no sense of nostalgia, Nico,” Caroline huffed. “I don’t know how you grew up in our family, and don’t care about history.”
“I do when it matters!” he replied, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “But an old broken-down blender isn’t history! It’s probably a fire hazard.”
“Well then, you don’t get a margarita,” Caroline said, sticking out her tongue and grabbing a tall glass from the cupboard.
“Oh, that’s not fair!”
Caroline turned to face him, arms crossed. “I suppose you could have one,” she said, her eyes bright with mischief, “if you apologize.”
Nico sighed, rolling his eyes. “Fine, fine. Caroline-”
“No, no,” she said, waving a finger. “Apologize to the blender.”
Nico stared at her for a second.
“You’re insane,” he muttered, but turned to face the blender with another sigh. “Blender-”
“Belinda.”
“You named your blender?!”
She shrugged.
“Belinda,” Nico started again, suppressing another eye roll, “I’m sorry for calling you old. And a fire hazard. I am sure you make wonderful smoothies and margaritas, and will last for a long time.” He glared at his sister. “Happy?”
“Very,” she said, smirking. “Grab another glass.”
Nico passed her another glass, and she went back to the blender.
“One more pulse should do it,” she said, and pressed a button.
PfssssssT.
Smoke rose from the base of the blender as the motor cracked, sputtered once, then died.
“Belinda, no!” Caroline cried, coughing.
“I told you,” Nico snorted. “Fire hazard. Now pass me my drink before the whole thing goes up.”
© The Lightning Tower, 2020