Mr. Microphone

When my childhood ended and I turned thirteen I asked my parents for a Mr. Microphone for Christmas.

It was made by Ronco. There were television commercials which demonstrated the cordless wonder and promised to offer one the chance to sing on their own car radio.

Ronco sucked me in to the spirit of Christmas with that damn microphone. I waited patiently for Christmas morning to roll around like Howard Stern waiting for his contract with XM Satellite Radio to be signed.

My mother loved to mess with my mind and play games with my fragile ego from time to time and Christmas morning was no exception. It appeared as though I didn't get my Mr. Microphone that cold Christmas morning.

My four siblings got everything they placed on Santa's wish list, but I didn't get the cordless microphone with an orange foam mouthpiece.

The family sat around the Christmas tree sharing joy and waiting patiently for me to show my ass and cry because I didn't get Mr. Microphone. After the tears rolled down my cheeks they laughed and told me to look under the sofa. “Perhaps Santa put it there.” they said while laughing hysterically.

Sure enough, there was the gift I wanted so badly.

The damn thing didn't work.

This year, I'm sending them all the new Ronco Inside-The-Shell Egg Scrambler.