Holy shit, I just gave myself a heart attack.
I am reaching for a plate on the counter, and I almost knock
the glass part of the blender to the floor.
That's right; the blender almost goes down. It teeters and totters for a few perilous
seconds until I am able to grab it with a strategic save. As I watch it waver four feet above the tile
floor, I know that if it should continue to fall, it will smash. I know this because I recently lost a plate
to this same ceramic floor. Okay, I
actually lost most of it to an open cabinet, the edge of which caught the plate
as I tried to put it away from the dishwasher.
The plate broke into pieces, part of it remaining in my hand, part of it
splintering when it hit the counter, and the rest shattering all over the tile
around my bare feet. Because of this
recent disaster, I know as soon as I see the blender faltering that its demise
is imminent.
I am quite attached to my blender. It makes lumpy but drinkable frozen
concoctions, lumpy because the ice chopper function doesn't really work, so I
pre-crack the ice. The end results are
often mostly-smooth with occasional misshapen chunks of ice bobbing
around. My blender produces outstanding
Margaritas, Mudslides, and more. My
blender is like the lifeline that greets me on those few really bad work days
when a beer by 3:15 is just an appetizer.
The most use the blender gets, though, is making
shakes. I need to learn to expand my
repertoire to include more fruit, but I mainly use it to make vanilla
shakes. Special ones. Ones with low-fat milk, Carnation Instant
Breakfast powder, a little vanilla, a scant teaspoon of sugar, and a huge
honking slab of light ice cream. Now,
that's the true breakfast of champions.
Nobody in her right mind would deny herself ice cream for
breakfast.
As my eyes follow the leaning blender, I immediately start sweating
and my heart rate jumps. That blender
and I often begin and end days together.
When my youngest is home from college, shakes are a morning staple. It's the same recipe I throw together for him
that I've found starts my own day most mornings. I take all these vitamins; I've been told (by
no one with any kind of authority nor degree to confirm this information) that
I shouldn't take the stuff, especially the iron, on an empty stomach. So, you see, I simply must have a shake to
start the day. When I arrive home much
later, sometimes my work days scream for frozen beverages the way migraines
scream for darkness.
My blender is my lifeline; I almost knock my lifeline to its
death. Holy shit. Bring on the heart attack … and the frozen
daiquiri; I'm going to need one after that scare.
