Originally published by The Clifton Courier July 14, 2021

For months now, I have had a gaping hole in my life. 

Something that was once my consistent companion was now gone. It was a dependable source of warmth and offered a sense of stability that rarely wavered. It never occurred to me that it wouldn’t be there forever and now there was just a void in its place. And I never fully appreciated the comfort it provided until it was no longer a presence in my life. 

That’s always the way it goes though, isn’t it?

You never realise how often you use a microwave until you don’t have one anymore. 

And, look, I know that I was able to get by without one for a really, really long time. Even when microwaves became quite cheap, it took the Maguire household a bit of time to get on board. My father was quite suspicious of those radiation boxes. And that’s fair. I mean it would be very, very annoying if we all found out we were poisoning ourselves just for the convenience heating up a Tupperware container of soup. And that, I think, might be another element to it – it was almost too convenient. If you wanted to reheat something before microwaves, you’d have to either put it in the oven or warm it on the stovetop, which, as well as probably using more energy, meant more washing up. But with a microwave, the effort and washing up was eliminated, so I suppose it made us lazier. And that lack of resistance meant it was easer to keep on reheating and eating. So I suppose that box also represented two of the major seven sins – gluttony and sloth. Although, I would point out that there’s no absolutely pride in microwave-abetted gluttony and sloth, so there’s one consolation there. 

So, that was a long way of saying that it wasn’t until well into my teen years that a microwave was brought into our home. Before that, I was fine living without one. But when you’re young, you don’t really need to worry about it too much because someone else is generally doing the cooking. 

And, look, as a strong independent woman in my late 20s, it’s not that I need a microwave. 

I have a perfectly functioning stove top (it’s one of those old coil stove tops which isn’t very fancy, but it does mean you can hear when you’ve left the stove on) and the oven also works well enough. I am fully capable of reheating my food by alternative methods.

But there are times when a gal really misses a microwave. Like, if you want microwavable popcorn. Or when you’re too glum to cook for yourself. Or when you have a muscle ache that a hot wheat pack would soothe. 

No matter how many cute little cups I put in that space where the previous microwave once sat, I couldn’t fill the void. And no matter how many times I proclaimed I could reheat food with other methods, I couldn’t deny that my longing for a microwave. 

I didn’t need one, but my life was undeniably better with one in it. 

And don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t not looking. I went into a physical shop, but was disappointed by the range. I looked on the apps, swiping keenly through to second-hand options but they all seemed to be too high of a price to pay, had far too many buttons and whiz-bang features or they gave off a very sad, unappealing vibe that made me think I’d be better off going without.

I had planned to get one the weekend just gone, but I was so disappointed and discouraged that I abandoned the quest altogether and decided to just go out any enjoy the beautiful winter sunshine. I went for my first big run in a long time and, once I caught my breath, treated myself to a City Cat ride in the direction of home, stopping to wander through a park in golden hour. I felt strangely content and I’d not felt that way for a really, really long time. 

On the walk home, I decided to go a slightly different route I’d not taken before. And as I walked between the riverfront and a-street-back-from-riverfront homes, I noticed something sitting on a low wall. 

It was a working microwave, with a “free to a good home” sign stuck to it.