Friday, June 24, 2011

I am NOT an appliance whore

Several years ago, I dated a man who loved gadgets and appliances.  Never mind the creepy Freudian undertones of subconsciously dating my epicurean grandfather (who also loved gadgets and appliances).  I really liked this guy.  He was fun and spontaneous.  He cooked for himself.  He gardened.  He was neat, clean, maintained his home, his yard and his cars.  Everything was so neat and clean, in fact, that I began to suspect that we were dealing with just more than a little OCD.  However, he loved food and wine and liked quirky little out-of-the-way restaurants.  Just like my grandfather.  And that's when my therapist pointed out that I preferred dating men that reminded me of my grandfather.  So we fixed that and now I'm married to a man who's a lot like my younger brother.  I'm not sure therapy was the right approach where mate-selection challenges are concerned.

Anyway, this man who loved gadgets and appliances had two of everything.  And I guess that now is a really good time to admit that I, too, love gadgets and appliances and although I don't have two of everything, I do have the Disease of More, which means that I am constantly acquiring one of everything.  But knowing someone who has two of everything and being tolerant of any OCD tendencies they might have has its benefits.  Because that's how I inherited my Ronco Rotisserie--my "Set It and Forget It," my 2:30-in-the-morning-and-I-can't-sleep-so-I'm-watching-infomercials-with-Ron-Popeil-and-his-really-bad-comb-over.  I love my Ronco Rotisserie.  It's worth its weight in gold.  It does the most fabulous chickens, the most succulent rib-eyes and the most incredible pork roast you will ever put in your mouth.  The secret?  The meat spins while it cooks and the juices circulate.  The meat sizzles and smells fabulous while it's cooking.  Using this machine is a no-brainer.  The math is on the side of the machine.  In 22 point font.  With a big dial that a fourth-grader could operate.  With pictures of the meat you'll be cooking.  So it's practically foolproof--that is, if you can recognize a line drawing of a chicken.  AND--get this--it can steam vegetables or bake apples in a separate container on top of the rotisserie while you cook your meat.

So imagine my excitement.  At first I thought, "I'm never gonna use this thing.  It will sit and collect dust and take up space in a closet somewhere."  And truthfully, I don't use it that often, but I'm still thrilled to have it because if I'm cooking a large meal for company, it frees up more oven and stovetop space.  And people think it's really cool to watch the meat spin round and round inside that lighted box.  Someone said to me once that it was better than watching their clothes spin in the dryer at the laundromat.  Sadly, this was said with great solemnity.  To each his own.

But about the guy I dated.  While we were together, I convinced him that he needed to buy a Vita-Mix.  Because I occasionally and vicariously act out the Disease of More by enabling others with similar challenges.  But if you don't know about the Vita-Mix, you certainly need to.  It looks like a medieval blender, but it does almost anything.  It juices.  It purees.  It blends.  It dices, slices, cuts and shreds.  It grinds coffee, wheat berries, mixes bread dough, makes smoothies, makes soup (and serves it hot), makes nut butters and is a great tool if you're living the Raw Lifestyle.  Also, Saturday Night Live fans of a certain age, it's 10 times better than the Bass-O-Matic, because there's no nasty scales or bones to deal with--they all get pulverized!  And you have the wonderful option of choosing to drink your bass cold or hot. 

Months after Mr. Two-of-Everything and I finally broke up (I mean broke up for the fifth time), he called me out of the blue.  He had done this before, and with some success had plaintively convinced me why I should still be in a relationship with him, but this time, there was something different in his voice.  Would I like to have the Vita-Mix?  He said that I was really the one who enjoyed using it and that he really had no use for it.  I could come and get it any time.  And, by the way, he would like me to go on vacation with him.  He was thinking of taking a Carribean cruise--he would even pay all the expenses--but really wanted me to go along with him.  And then at the end of the cruise, I could have the Vita-Mix.

I paused.  I would really love to have that Vita-Mix.  I could finally get into juicing and grinding my own wheat berries.  And it was true, I really needed a vacation.  A cruise through turquoise water that had virtually no impact on my finances certainly was tempting.  But the implications were unpleasant to me.  If I wanted the Vita-Mix, I would have to spend 5 days with a man that I no longer wanted a relationship with.  I would have to ignore my better judgment in exchange for an expensive machine.  Was the Vita-Mix really worth all that?  Could I suppress my inner voice and my scruples long enough to go along with Mr. Two-of-Everything's plans?  And, more importantly, how would I feel about using that Vita-Mix in the future, knowing how I had acquired it?

In the end, I politely declined.  I decided that the Vita-Mix was just too expensive for me to own.  And you know something?  I really don't miss it.

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