THE THERMOS AND THE KETTLE, A Children’s Story by Gene K. Garrison
“You think you’re so smart, don’t you?” the lowly, blackened kettle said. “I think you’re so snooty because you’re a new thermos bottle.”
“I am not snooty. I’m versatile and I know it. That’s not snooty.
What can you do that I can’t?”
“I can boil water.”
“Well, I can keep it hot, or I can keep it cold. The people who
take care of me are pretty imaginative. They pour soup in me, and tea, and hot chocolate, and anything they want. They even filled me with spaghetti once.”
The kettle spouted some steam. “You just think that because you are bright and shiny, tall, and have a cup on top that you’re better than I am.”
“Oh, I didn’t say that. I’m not better. I’m just different.”
“A different shape,” the kettle replied.
“Yes, a silo shape.” The thermos twinkled in self-admiration—shiny, sleek admiration. “I’m tall, bright cylindrical — not squat and soot-covered. I’m confident and proud to know what I am—and happy about it! You know what you should do? You should polish yourself up a bit, and put on a happy face.”
The kettle raised his eyebrows. He hadn’t thought of that before.
“Hmm, you could be right,” he said, and started looking for the polishing rag.
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