Neither Pampered, Nor a Chef

Last night my lovely next-door-neighbor, Leah, had a Pampered Chef® party. I am not a huge fan of these in-home shopping parties, mainly because every day is a struggle for me to contain my impulse-shopping tendencies, and that’s just at Target. I go into these gatherings with the firmest of intentions, but the sad truth is that it never takes long for the peer pressure and implied sense of obligation (I have to buy something, she made a cake!) to entirely dispossess me of my senses, and the next thing I know I’m whipping out my checkbook to purchase a Crinkle Cutter that I simply must have, so that it can sit, nestled in its protective plastic sleeve, unused in a drawer in my kitchen for years and years because, hello! I DON’T COOK!

But Leah is lovely, and I hadn’t seen her since the last time it was possible to leave the house without dying from hypothermia within seconds. Besides which, I had just finished doing my taxes, and had very recently learned that all those upgrades I made to my home computer last year are totally tax deductible “education expenses.” So I was in an optimistic mood.

I really, really wanted to order a Food Chopper, especially after Rita, the sales representative, demonstrated right there on Leah's dining room table how just a few quick presses of the knob will rotate the durable blades to perfectly chop all manner of nuts and vegetables and chocolate chips as coarsely or as finely as I might like. Nevertheless, through a goddess-like display of super-human fortitude—in spite of the fact that the Food Chopper is also top-rack dishwasher safe—I managed to limit my order to what I’m pretty sure are the five least expensive things in the entire catalog. And I can’t wait to use my new Quikut paring knife.

You know, to cut open the wrapper on a frozen pizza. Or something.