… her father’s middle name is MightyOne.
My electric mixer flew apart yesterday, mid-preparation for a big event, so Husband and I went to Bed, Bath, and Beyond to buy a new one. Shopping together for an appliance, large or small, reminds me so much of his mother and mine. His mother read Consumer Reports, wrote down all the salient detail in a memo pad, visited several stores, read every word on each box, and bought the best, with a 20% coupon, while my mother ran to the local Sears and parted with her money, reluctantly, for the cheapest model she could find. She was back home in less than an hour.
So, we’re at B, B, and B yesterday. I’ve chosen the 18-dollar model in as many seconds. He’d read Consumer Reports before leaving the house; now he’s not only reading every word on the model he’s chosen, a doozy at 70 bucks—I mean this is a mixer, and I use it maybe twice a year—he’s also punching up on his iPhone comparisons on mixers within a thirty-mile radius.
“This one’s quieter and will last,” he says, “and it has a dough hook.”
A dough hook. Swell.
“This one’s 18 bucks,” I say, “and why do we care if it’s quiet. I won’t use it often.”
What do dough hooks do exactly?
He gives me a mildly amused look and puts the 70-buck model in the cart. Later, Daughter, who knows what a dough hook does, uses the mixer. It practically purrs. Its three technologically advanced attachments are packed in their own little glove, which has assigned pockets. It has a digital display. She’s further convinced that her father’s middle name is MightyOne.
Oh.
I sit down with a cup of tea and a cookie, and read the directions on the box.
Dough hook …