TUESDAY. Cocktails with the neighborhood ladies. I mention the new blender.
A short silence ensues.
"Your husband bought it, right?" says an Armani-suited graphic designer.
Well-- uh, yeah...
"Two words," says the designer. "Protective headgear. My husband bought one, too. That thing sounds like a jet engine taking off."
"But is sounded OK at Costco..."
"Costco is a freakin' airplane hangar, of course it sounded fine there! I am telling you. Get yourself a pair of industrial-strength hear protectors. You'll thank me."
WEDNESDAY. Realize I am afraid of new blender.
THURSDAY. It sits on the kitchen counter, silent,still, unused. Its virginity mocks me.
SATURDAY. Spouse offers to make dinner. Takes some of my eggplant parmesan- that eggplant parm from the farmer's market cheapo eggplants, that labor of love- and purees it in new blender. Pours it over pasta. It is not bad.
SUNDAY. Page through blender cookbook. If I follow all its instructions in a month I will be slim, gorgeous, death-proof in my non-trans-fattedness.