Bed Bath and Birthday

I had promised in my last post to share with you what my parents had bestowed upon me for my birthday at a later date, and I am here tonight to fulfill my promise to you. I know, right? Now, your heart can go on.

For my birthday, I had asked my family for gift cards to Bed Bath and Bedazzled, so I could buy the one essential appliance my kitchen still lacked: a food processor powerful enough to puree the entire Garden of Eden in one pulse. I will henceforth refer to the food processor as "procsy," since that is what I call it as a loving term of endearment. I spend a huge amount of time in my kitchen -I have lost valuable hours of sleep during the workweek to the creation of perfect cheese wafers- and had noticed that many recipes for pie crust and other flaky necessities require a procsy. It's apparently the only way to get a perfect pastry, as we all know that when Ma Ingalls was loading up the covered wagon for the great trek out of the Big Woods, she made sure to nestle the procsy next to the heirloom china and handmade quilts. And those back-issues of Us Weekly about Britney Spears' mental collapse. Man, Ma Ingalls did love her some Brit-Brit.

Mom and Dad started off my proscy piggy bank with a Bed Bath and Bediculous gift card Monday night, and Tuesday night the whole family assembled like a well-dressed religious cult at my grandmother's for dinner. After roast turkey and enough fresh vegetables to regulate the Dallas Cowboys (and possibly their entire fan base), I was allowed to ravage the pile of presents. I received not only enough Bed Bath and Bespeckled gift cards to claim my procsy, but also a cake pan that produces a giant cupcake, and a fabulous striped silk Coach purse, which my cousin Wayne picked out for me. I do love my tiny purses. Wayne feeds my addiction for smaller and smaller handbags, and if this progression continues, I will eventually be carrying a thimble by a shiny leather handle. In a fashionable color, natch.

After I had moved all of my necessities (keys, wallet, phone, and 26 lipsticks) into my new Coach Chicklet, I dragged Lawyer Boy straight to Bed Bath and Bewitched, where I followed the siren song of the small appliance section. I located and immediately pounced upon the procsy I had preselected online, only to discover that it cost a full hundred dollars less than what I had remembered! Remember the part where I said I had enough gift cards to cover the full cost of the procscy? Remember how freakdiculous I am about kitchen gizmos?

At the realization that I had a hundred extra dollars to marry with small appliances, I about near fell over, right after I stopped running around and shrieking with glee, which caused LB to head for the shower curtain section, where he wrapped himself in as many curtains as possible to hide from anyone who knew he was with me.

Once I picked myself and my handbag up off the floor, I settled on the pasta machine attachment for my stand mixer. I love my stand mixer so much I practically cuddle it to sleep every night, and because I have no social life and a minimal grasp on normalcy, I had recently decided I wanted to make my own pasta. My insanity knows no bounds. What, like you're surprised?

New appliances in hand and pie-eating grin stretched from ear to ear, LB and I proceeded to checkout, and to take our new baby home for the first time. We had previously installed the carseat per the manufacturer's instructions, so the procsy had a safe and snuggly ride home.

I promise to be a good mom, as long as it doesn't wake me up crying in the middle of the night.