recently, i came into a tiny sum of money. stop salivating, blackmailers. those rotten whores at the student loan corporation and various credit card agencies (note to all: don’t get addicted to drugs or alcohol – they’ll put you in debt and cloud your judgment when you’re determined to purchase those $400 chanel slides) will be reaping the benefits of my blood, sweat and tears.
but i have a little bit of money left over to play with and i’ve been twiddling my thumbs. i’ve been frugal for so long (half my wardrobe comes courtesy of my coworker and two clothing swaps, and one of my friends who gets my clarkson potter cookbooks had to shackle my hands from typing any more email requests that start with BY GOD, PLEASE. IT’S CRUEL THAT I DON’T HAVE X’S COOKBOOK!) that i’m paralyzed. what to do? my little fingers are quivering. i want to treat myself to something, but what?
then i had a conversation with myself. i have these often but i’ve determined that i’m not insane for having them. i said: self, what is the one thing you would never buy unless you got married, tortured your father for a combo christmas/birthday gift or stole one, ala vegas style, from bed, bath and beyond? you guessed it, culinary cuties. A KITCHEN AID.
think of the endless possibilities. think of my shame and alientation when i can’t make the fucking recipe out of the very beautiful martha stewart (god) baking book because it requires 35 goddamn minutes of stirring, and why oh why are my souffles so flat? after many woeful lamentations and shin kicking on the subway, i said forget it, man.
i’m getting the goddamn kitchen aid. i don’t know where i’ll store it (who’s kidding here, i’ll toss my cat out the window for a spot) or when i’ll use (morning muffins at 4:30 am, anyone?) it, but i’m getting it. and there is no stopping me (stomps foot).
on a related note, i should point out that i penned a quick tip sheet on how to buy a cookbook for ehow.com. i own a shameful amount of cookbooks that should my house blow up from a gas fire, my cookbooks and the cat are the first thing out the door.
cripe. would you get a look at the dough hook?! fox trot, i say.