Confessions of an American Witch
an excerpt

Apparently, I have philosophical kitchen appliances. Some how, some where along the line, they had gotten into a discussion of humanity and nakedness. Ever since Bob had developed a fixation with attempting to clothe himself.
Currently he was donning a kilt made from an old hand towel, black knee socks worn cross wise over his torso, and was using a scrap of an old wash cloth as a kitchen rag. Bob looked like an insane Celtic Iron Chef. It was highly amusing. Darius had to stifle a laugh when he saw how the toaster was attired.
On the other end of the spectrum, the coffee pot, Frank Henry, seemed to take nudism to a new level and viewed it as a religious experience. He had even convinced the Blender to follow his teachings. Rumor was the two had a torrid love affair. Needless to say the small society in my kitchen seemed to be developing quite nicely along the usual vectors.
And usefully, Bob was still the toaster king. I half expected my appliances to begin discussing the after life any day now. For the most part life had returned to normal, well as normal as it gets for me at least. When you have a sentient toaster as a butler and your flat mate is worshiped by an insane nudist coffee pot, normal takes on a whole new meaning.