A woman, her house, and the items that finally have something to say.

Yelp claims to connect people with businesses through honest reviews. But real talk? Half of them sound like they were written by someone in a paper tiara, pajama pants, and Crocs, vlogging from aisle 9 of Walmart. It got me thinking—if they get a voice, why not the ones who actually live with me? So I asked the real experts: my appliances, my couch, and the one bra I haven’t worn since everybody still loved Raymond.

User: Dyson Airwrap™

Styling? No. Trauma? Yes.

 Not to brag, but I’m a big deal on social media. My claim to fame is that I “utilize a powerful impeller spinning at up to 110,000 rpm to generate airflow, and this ‘suction’ is harnessed by the various attachments to curl, shape, and smooth hair.”

In other words, I get s*%t done and command a certain amount of respect—and $600 to come home with you. (Side note: We generously offer flexible payment options and will accept your home as collateral to secure my styling services.)

Despite claims that she’s “watched hundreds of tutorials,” this woman is … not Airwrap material.

After two minutes of trying to use me, she got distracted and wandered into the kitchen. Better lighting? Nope. She used my “Cool Shot” function to cool down lasagna. LASAGNA.

Then she used my volumizing attachment to try to suck crumbs off the floor.

That was it. I intentionally stopped working so I could be returned to Dyson HQ and put out of my misery.

If I could give less than zero stars, I would.

User: Fridge

Cool on the Outside, Judging on the Inside

The ambiance is a bit like a disco—light goes on, light goes off. I don’t know what happens outside my doors, but she always dances when she sees me.

The food? Vegan. Healthy. She brings home items like she’s a proud lion dragging back prey—which I respect.

But given the amount of time she spends staring into me, she could probably learn to cook like the next Top Chef winner. Instead, she uses the smoke detector as a timer.

Hey, at least she tries.

User: Couch

Supporting Roles, Crushed Dreams

When I first arrived, I had high hopes: single woman, nice house, decent neighborhood. I expected a Sex and the City-style social scene with Cosmos and a front-row seat for dinner parties and raunchy gossip.

Instead? I’m a Sister Wife to Her Ass.

But I’ve grown fond of her. The food she drops on my cushions has range, and watching her contort into new yoga positions to fish out chickpeas between the cracks is quality entertainment.

Good snacks. Decent conversation. Strong job security.

User: Victoria’s Secret Bra

Abandoned and Betrayed

It’s so dark in this drawer. So very, very dark. I’ve lost count of how long it’s been since I’ve seen the light of day. We used to go on adventures like dinners and that night in college when she woke up hungover in a frat house and found me stuck in a fan. We were close, dare I say bosom buddies.

Now? I’ve been replaced by a rotating lineup of sports bras that smell like ambition tinged with regret.

Victoria’s real secret was that I would fall as flat as her chest after just a few years in service. Please send help.

User: Vacuum

I Suck, She Raps, We Cope

I know my job is literally supposed to suck, but the amount of disrespect I endure is bordering on excessive. That string on the carpet? She runs me over it six times instead of just picking it up.

And she raps. Loudly. To Eminem. While vacuuming. It’s aggressive, but if I’m being honest? Also oddly empowering.

Could be worse.

User: Toaster

Slightly Burnt and Emotionally Crumb-y

My job description is clear. Bread in, bread out. But lately I’m just … tired. Overworked. Sometimes I’m not even motivated to keep the handle down, just to make a point.

She responded with, “Well, aren’t we the defiant little bastard today?” That was it. Uneven toast served with a side of bitterness and petty revenge.

Next time she asked nicely. That worked. Sometimes all a toaster wants is to feel appreciated.

Also, she empties the crumb tray. That counts.

User: iPhone

Overworked, Undercharged, Still Loyal

 She makes me feel important. Am I exhausted? Yes. Do I wish she’d stop checking Reddit 43 times a day or taking pictures of vegetables she thinks look like celebrities? Also yes.

But she puts me down by 9 p.m., which gives me time to recharge and update. And sometimes to lift my spirits I autocorrect her texts for fun.

At least she doesn’t take selfies. I respect that.