Monologue with Iron,…

Monologue with Iron,
the Day Before Thanksgiving

Iron: Oh! Hey! You're plugging me in, and turning me on, and giving me water -- sweet, sweet water. It's been so dry and dusty up on that shelf; I was parched. And whoa, a tablecloth? That's a real commitment. A tablecloth takes time. It takes patience, and care, and being willing to deal with the fiddly bits in the middle. What's this? Two of them? Three? Four? Gosh! That's quite a party you're having. And runners too? I LOVE doing runners. Swooping down them, fast and sweet. You can really see my skill on a runner. What's next? Napkins? SO MANY NAPKINS. Wow. I thought you didn't love me. I thought you didn't care for me at all. But now I can see that you really appreciate me. You understand my true worth. This is the start of a beautiful relationship. You and me, together forever. Tomorrow, maybe you could iron a few shirts? Hey. Hey. You've turned me off. You're putting back up on that high shelf, the one you can't reach without a step stool. You don't want to leave me alone up there, baby. It's so cold up there. So lonely. It's been three hundred and sixty-five days since the last time you touched me. I don't know if I can take that again. Hey. Hey. Don't walk away. Please...

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