Here’s the thing: I dont remember much about high school chemistry class.  My teacher’s name was Mrs. Arensberg, my friend has a seizure in the middle of one class, and we did an experiment with titration.  Just because I remember that I did that experiment, I couldn’t tell you what titration means.  I vaguely recall, though, that it involved messing with one beaker, and then another, trying to get the right balance of fluid into a bigger beaker.  My chemistry major whizkid boyfriend is going to hate this post so much.

Titration is not.... you can't just make up definitions for.... nevermind.

Yup, just call me Jordan Nye the Science Guy. (Fun Fact: I met Bill Nye when I was in college, he visited UNC.  Less Fun Fct: He was a total asshole.  Seriously, not nice at all.) 

That’s all beyond the point.  What I’m getting at, is that the act of adding some from one beaker and some from another always sat with me as how titration works. And I feel as though, every day I use the microwaves at work, I’m doing my own little chemistry experiment.  Only, instead of trying to balance liquies from two beakers, I am trying to balance out the power of two different microwaves in the office.

In the red corner, we have this little gem:

This microwave is the jack of all trades. It can toast, it can nuke, and it does it all without burning anything.  My food always emerges hot, not crusty, there are often treats on top (such as chocolate chip cookies or chocolate frogs like I saw yesterday!!)  It’s a beautiful thing to walk over there, and my popcorn never stinks up the office by burning.  Sometimes, when I’m waiting for my popcorn, I do wallsits by this microwave.  I love it.

Then, in the blue corner, we have this eyesore: