Reason 1,426 I'm like Lucky
Let me preface this with the fact that if you haven't read LUCKY AND THE FALLING FELON yet, you totally should. It will help you understand why this post proves my similarity to her. They say there is a part of an author in all of his or her work. Well, lemme tell ya, you don't have to look far to see what parts of me are revealed in Lucky Boucher.
Take two days ago for instance. I'm throwing ingredients into my Nutribullet cup, preparing to make a smoothie out of items in my fridge that were near expiration. Okay, fine, some of them had exceeded that date, BUT they were fine. Nothing was slimy or smelly when it shouldn't have been slimy and/or smelly (if you'd like a list of ingredients because now you're dying of curiosity, email me). Anyway, so I put it all in the cup part, screwed on the blade, gave it a good shake, then stuck it on the base to blend. While it was turning healthy green-and-purple things into what looked like something a toddler threw up, I put away what needed to go back into the cabinet. Then I started to smell something strange. Something kind of smokey. Like, you know, smoke. And it was coming from my Nutribullet. Evidently, and I didn't know this because I'm just as allergic to reading instructions and manuals as Lucky is, you aren't supposed to blend for more than one minute at a time. If you exceed said one minute, evidently the Nutribullet becomes Linda Blair and starts spitting pea soup everywhere as she attempts to burn the joint down.
By the time I realized what was happening, I was afraid to touch it. I mean, that thing has parts that could, if broken and projected correctly, impale squishy flesh. And I have lots of squishy flesh, y'all, but I like it like it is—unimpaled, thank you very much. But the smoking thing was really starting to freak me out, which meant I had to eventually approach the device in question. So, just like Lucky, I pulled on my big girl pants and went to turn it off. I unplugged it for good measure, but by that point, I was having major trust issues with it, so I ended up taking it outside. And not just outside as in onto the porch. The last thing I needed was for it to catch fire and set the homestead ablaze. No, I took it outside outside. Like many feet from the flammable parts of my house. That kind of outside.
After sulking in the sun and rain and scary night hours for two solid days, I took pity on the poor thing and brought it inside to the garbage. That was as nice a sendoff as I could manage. At least I didn't bury it in the back yard.
So long, green Nutribullet. You've now been replaced by a gray model that I hope will far exceed your abilities and will pose no threat to life, limb, or home. And just because I was feeling super responsible when I met New Nutribullet, I even read the directions on her use. That's how I know you can't blend for more than one minute.
The moral of the story? I have a lot in common with Lucky Boucher. And you should really, really read the directions. Save yourself some kitchen appliances.
To meet Lucky (not the real life one), click here. She's either 99 pennies or FREE with Kindle Unlimited:)
Until the next incident...