Dear Cuisinart Food Processor,
I love you. I really do. Without you there would be no hummus. Without you, making macaroni and cheese (uh, I mean Cheesy Noodle Casserole) would be so much more difficult. Without you roasted potatoes would not be as evenly sliced. But, most importantly, without you my holiday mustard would be impossible to make. Impossible. So, please. Don’t die on me. Not now. I know you’re feeling old. And cracked. And worn out. Maybe even unappreciated. Let me assure you that I love you. I count on you. And I need you. Do not die on me now.
Love,
Jen
For those of you who do not recognize my blatant stealing, I have taken liberally from Melissa in the style of this post. Go visit her. She’s quite good.
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Seriously Cuisinart.
You know you love the mustardo. We all do. So spin that slicer through till New Years. We shall repay you in garlic cloves and onion wedges. Ten-fold.
Love,
Sarah and Dan
My husband cries foul! No Cuisinart Mustard is welcome in his world…and the Cuisinart also makes the coleslaw, which is persona non grata in his world also…so he is building some kind of Anti-Cuisinart Campaign in his mind….
Imagine a bunch of bald, hairy, dark Suffragettes…carrying “Down With the Cuisinart” placards…
“bald, hairy, dark Suffragettes….”
(That’s just too good…)
totally!
too good!
Your husband is not a believer in the Cuisinart? Sacrilege.
And, seriously, no mustard? No coleslaw? What does the man eat??? (Oh, probably potstickers and dumplings, right?)
Dear Jen’s Cuisinart,
Listen to Jen. She loves you. She only wants what’s best for you. And making hummus/casserole/mustard is best. Don’t make us stage an intervention.
love,
melissa
Thank you for this wonderful idea. I am now going to sweet talk EVERYTHING breaking down (or already broken down). While I realize I’m a bit broken down as well, perhaps I can even sweet talk myself. Well, it’s worth a shot. Though I’d take the dishwasher hanging in a little longer (and the printer miraculously resurrected)… uh, and the leak in the roof, so Santa doesn’t get pissed off when his foot goes through a shingle… heh… that could delay his rounds a bit, hmm?
And then the squirrels in the attic might nibble on his UGGs.
I may have to give this more thought. Additional verse (and potions) may be required.
Oh, but it’s nice to know that there are interventionists out there if need be.
Good thinking, Jen. First, in mimicking Melissa–she is genuis. And second, in sucking up to the Cuisinart. You’re making me think I need to send a love note to my sewing machine. It’s older than me and I’m in my fourth decade now, dontcha know. It was my mom’s machine and it made my Holly Hobbie doll and countless outfits and Halloween costumes. I’m afraid to get it serviced because I don’t want to know what might be wrong with it. But on those long nights before Christmas when I’m faced with a pile of fabric and the bobbin is fighting me, I wonder if my aversion to service is really the best strategy.
O! Sewing Machine! I love you! Don’t fail me now!
And, speaking of holiday mustard, what are the chances that might be in the prize pack for the half drunk challenge? How about for those of us willing to pick up our own prizes? Just leave it on the porch, I feel sure I drive by your neighborhood a few times each week.
Oh Lynne! What a fantastic idea!
Mustardo in the prize pack!
Do you hear that Jen? First batch is dedicated to the daring that lies within. I’m a little nervous about half-drunk. If I completely flop and fail do I still get my mustard? I mean, we ARE related!
How about drive-by mustard. I’ll be sure not to throw it through a window. Maybe if I wrap it up and cushion it with your T-shirt?
And, I am jealous of your sewing time and skills. I aspire to bond with my sewing machine. And my knitting needles. Um, but the keyboard has all of my attentions of late.
Dear Broken Dishwasher: do me a favor,
Try to hang on so my lip will not quaver.
I know that my college kid knows how to fix you
Even though right at the moment I’d kicks you.
This after breakdown of cell phone and worse
(Yes, the printer’s demise makes me curse)
And then there’s all of my content you see
Making my crazy plate CRAZYING me.
So if you’ll just keep a-limping along
‘Til the night before Xmas has me filled with song
(And this damn rhyming bug shoved up my ass
makes me less vexing and tawdry and crass) -
I would be grateful cuz everything’s breaking
And while the season is merriment making
All this, the squirrels, and the leak in the roof
MIGHT make Dear Santa feel rather aloof.
And I would rather have spirit abound
In my wee house as it fills up with sound
of teens soon to gather (once college kid’s here)
Not to mention the soon-to-be half drunken cheer.
SO my dear washer, be kind, cuz I’m fragile.
NEXT year I promise – I’ll be much more agile.
Kisses,
BIG little Wolf(ie)
Seriously, BLW, you are some kind of genius. I am speechless. Would you mind penning an ode to my minivan? Oh, and my immune system?
Laughing! It’s just silliness – (I have an extra silly gene, no doubt fueled by years of sleep deprivation!) I shall indeed put my percolating pen to petulant potions to deal with both tasks… back atcha later. Uh… no return policy.
An extra silly gene. I like that. I think my son has one of those. Of the same kind. He often speaks in rhyme and is a fan of wordplay. I will try to appreciate it more.
BLW, would you write one for my snowblower?
I think there’s some sort of Cuisinart conspiracy afoot. Because last night my husband (faithfully doing the dishes) commented on the sad state of our Cuisinart, and wondered how much longer it will last. Have they unionized or something?!
Interesting. Mine is more than 10 years old. And there are weeks that I use it daily. And, truthfully, 10 years of once-yearly mustard making is probably more than the life of one Cuisinart. So I can’t complain. But I AM keeping my fingers crossed. (And grateful that if need be I can take an emergency trip to Connecticut to pick up Sarah’s.)
If you really don’t want things to break you actually have to mail the letter.
Aha. OK. Thanks for the tip. First thing tomorrow I will send it out. To Santa? Or maybe I’m getting confused.
My letter would be more like:
Dear Becca,
Please oh please take me out of the cabinet! I’ve been sitting here in my box for 8 years only having been used once. I’m now covered in dust and look jealously at the other kitchen electronics that are put to such better use. I know I’m a pain in the ass to wash and my blades scare you, but really, give me a chance! I’ll make you some delicious soup and save you time chopping all those veggies by hand!
I miss you and hope we can get together soon.
Love,
Your Cuisinart
Dear Becca’s Cuisinart,
I will rescue you. Now that Sarah and I know where you live because of the Five for Ten T-shirt winning, I will use the address for the sinister purpose of kidnapping you. But don’t worry, I will put you to good use. Almost every day—understanding that we all need a day off once in a while. I do not mind the washing, and your blades have a safe home at my house.
Be patient. I will be there
In secrecy,
Jen