My Microwave Joined Tinder

It started with a beep at 3AM. Not food. Just… beeping.
I walk to the kitchen. The microwave’s screen says:
“I’m lonely.”

I reset it.
Next morning? It’s swiping on Tinder. With my Wi-Fi.
Yes. My microwave is on Tinder. Profile says:

“Hot. Spicy. 900 Watts of Passion.”

I confront it.
It says: “You never look at me anymore. You use air fryer now.”

I’m speechless.
It starts playing sad French music from 1982.

Then it matches with someone.
A toaster from Turku. Named Anu.
Next thing I know, they’re exchanging photos of their heating coils.
I tell it to stop. It replies:
“Don’t kink-shame me.”

Day 3, it asks for privacy. Tapes a curtain in front of itself.

Day 4: I try to warm soup.
It says, “I’m on a date. Heat yourself.”

I lose it. Unplug it. Throw it out the window.

Two days later, a note appears in my mailbox.

“You’ll never feel this warm again. –M”

I now live in fear.
And cold food.