Well, I was asleep, and Beth’s present was delivered to the house.
Unfortunately, the Navy Exchange shipped it in a container with exactly what it is marked on the outside of the box. She humped it into the house whilst I slept. Great.
So she gets to use it today, after she reads the hundred-page instruction manual and watches the DVD (!).
Mother has a rule: it is not a gift if it involves work. A vacuum cleaner is not a gift. A washing machine is not a gift. A snow thrower is not a gift. (Actually here, I am the snow thrower.)
Beth likes to cook. She really likes to cook. Thus for her that is not work. Plus I do the dishes anyway, and I like to eat. Two great things to do together. Plus, her current food processor is a good tool for making a disaster out of the kitchen (it will save me labour too).
While casting about and fishing information from her for a gift (angler references there), I suggested a food processor. She said, no Cuisinart.
So I got a fourteen-cup (3.75 litre, about) Cuisinart. (With additional bowls for smaller loads.)
The thing about Cuisinart food processors is they are viewed as yuppie status-symbol things, as if they were a BMW car. (Someone asked us in Bridgeport the other day if we were yuppies, because we bought a Smart. I pointed out yuppies buy Beemers and Jags, not Smarts.)
But what they really are: very heavy, robust food processors. This one weighs about forty pounds (18 kg).
They do not dance around the counter while trying to use them. They are built something like an ordinance bunker.
And it is way bigger than her little one cup (250 ml) processor she has now. (Anytime she uses that for cooking, the whole kitchen is a mess, and everything has to be done in tiny fragments.)
Perhaps in the city such a device is a yuppie thing. A childless couple living in an apartment and eating out 90% of the time does not need a Cuisinart. Here, where we do home-canning, eat virtually all our food at home, and re-pack meals for later use, it is a labour-saver. And both she and I are all about labour-saving.
So now I need to get something else, so she has something to open she does not know about. Perhaps fishing gear. – James, on the edge of Wyoming.
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It is as egregious as Mitt Romney’s infamous 47% remark. You know you want to sign it and forward it to everyone you know. And put it on Twitter. And Facebook. And MySpace. (I don't have those accounts.)