Inanimate objects of desire

The fridge was 50 (and probably wasn't thrilled about having to 'work' at its own party by chilling the wine and cheese) - but still, that's longevity. They bought the fridge in 1959 for about $120 and barring a replacement thermostat 30 years ago, it's kept on ticking ever since. Sure, it probably weighs a ton, sags the floorboards and uses more power than the sun, but it works just as good as it did 50 years ago.

Friends tell them to toss the thing. The Howkins' reply is, "It hasn't poisoned anyone yet!" Which, granted, is a bit of an unsettling response, considering this is a food-storing appliance. If it hasn't poisoned anyone, do we have reason to believe it's at least caused mild cramping and gas? And if it DOES poison someone will it be tossed or will it simply get relegated to basement beer fridge status? I think the answer is simple. The Howkins love their fridge. They are emotionally attached to the thing. And after 50 years, I guess it can happen.

Actually, I know it can happen because my own mother developed an attachment to an inanimate object. Not a fridge mind you - it was a sweatshirt she bought it in the ‘80s. Remember those shirts with a single word or phrase printed across the front? But instead of "Frankie Says Relax", hers had a big "X" on it. And underneath that, in smaller font - "rated". How can you even BE "X-rated" in a sweatshirt?! I guess that's why you have to advertise it. I might be wearing a tarp but just so you know, under this shapeless, sexless monstrosity, I am one saucy minx.

Anyway, "X-rated" was her favourite shirt by far. And long after she stopped wearing it, it still managed to dodge every single wardrobe cleansing. My mom didn't want to wear it, she just couldn't stand to part with it (because it hadn't poisoned anyone maybe). Plus, it still technically 'worked'. Not a rampant thread to speak of. The day we finally convinced her to toss it, she actually shed a few tears. I felt so bad I dug through the garbage bag she packed it in and gave ol' X-rated back to her for Christmas. The reunion was Oprah-worthy.

We're sentient beings. Can we help it if every now and then we wanna throw a party for a fridge or squirrel away an ugly-ass sweatshirt from 1984? How many of us name our cars or cheer at our TV sets when our team scores a goal? If we didn't have inanimate things to shower our love upon, we'd have to transfer our affection to actual human beings. And frankly, I think I'd much rather worry about what to buy a fridge for its birthday than a human.