My Vitamix Does Not Complete Me!

It may come as a surprise to many of you but I shmanclonn flook. I mean, I blangnok crook.

Okay, I CANNOT COOK!

There, I said it.

But there’s an explanation.

Apparently I have a defect on chromosome 14 (b), a.k.a. the cooking skills chromosome.

I admit, it’s hard on everyone in my family. I feel bad. I really do. But I think I make up for it with all my other excellent skills: I can run really fast on ice while flossing; I can type backwards; AND I can make stuff up.  It’s a gift.

Don’t hate me because I’m multi-talented.

However, back to my culinary skills, ahem, non-culinary skills, I mean, unskilled culinarianism–whatever you want to call it–I thought I had finally found a solution. After all these years, I thought I was going to be able to make dinner for my family.

Actually, I was counting on a machine to make them dinner, or at the very least soup. Called the Vitamix, it’s been all the rage. Everybody’s been getting one.  Ergo, I had to have one, too.

I was sooooo excited, as you can see by the expression on my face, above.

Wait, here’s a close up so that you can better appreciate how excited I really and truly was…

Okay, well, that’s embarrassing.   It appears I have broccoli stuck in my teeth. Please disregard.

What’s important is that this really big and powerful machine that everyone was talking about also promised to make me a better mother. At least I think I read that somewhere in the fine print.

Regardless, I had to have it.

I couldn’t hit the ‘buy’ key fast enough.

I was rather shocked at the sticker price… as much as a pair of Manolo Blahnik’s! But the fine fine print also promised that the Vitamix would make my calves look just as good as Mr. Blahnik’s sumptuous creations. Yeah, I’m pretty sure it said that, too.  You’ve got to believe me.

The super duper fine fine print also said that I must never ever ever never call the Vitamix a ‘blender’, even though it could blend anything. Anything. Even a car! It’s so big and powerful that it’s sometimes mistaken for the Large Hadron Collider, which happens to be the world’s most powerful superconducting magnet. (I’m getting one of those for Christmas. I hope!)

And so, the Vitamix was going to change my life.

Forever.

I was delirious with anticipation.

And for the next ‘seven to ten days’ all I did was wait.

It was torturous.

I hated not knowing whether it would be seven or eight or nine or ten days.

But finally, on day Eight-And-A-Half ( at 5:30 p.m., too late for dinner that night) my Vitamix arrived and it was delivered by four men in suits.

Hazmat suits.

I just love all the excitement that comes with being me!

But the excitement soon dissipated. There were too many boxes. That could only mean one thing.

Assembly required.

Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!

I don’t do tools. That part must have been in the invisible fine print.

I stared at the boxes for two days.

Finally I put protective gloves on (to protect my glorious machine) and went to work.  But when I was finished I was horrified.

I had created a horrible, vicious beast!

It looked like a cross between a Monster Truck and Hannibal Lecter.

It is, without a doubt, the biggest, scariest, meanest kitchen appliance I have ever seen.

It even came with its own first aid kit, including a cardiac defibrillator and a prosthetic arm–in case it ate one of mine????????????????

Alas, I have yet to use my Vitamix. I’m now waiting for my Bose Quiet Comfort 3 Acoustic Noise Canceling Headphones (everyone has them!) to arrive so as to reduce the risk of any hearing loss when I turn on Big V.

I’m also thinking of dressing up as a Vitamix machine for Hallowe’en.  It’s either that or the Large Hadron Collider.

Thoughts?