Cookware

The place this post is coming from:
The boy child and I both have colds. Mine is merely inconvenient. His is keeping him up and interrupting his ability to eat and BREATHE at the same time. Kind of crucial. He's miserable but he still laughs when we take a walk and he sees Henry, trotting beside the stroller. EVERY time he sees Henry trotting beside the stroller.

The reason for this post:
My ability to surprise even myself with my lack of brains. I tell people that I left my memory in the hospital on September 21, 2010, but really that's just a joke to make folks laugh and distract them from the fact that I am missing brain cells.

On to the post:
Because I desperately want to be a super mom, I make my own baby food, that is, in addition to breast milk (har har).
So today I get back from a successful shopping trip and fire up the stockpot with extra water in the bottom and the steamer basket up top and I steam away. Carrots, plums and pears. I decide to make more carrots, so I throw them in and run out to check the laundry.
*Ominous music*
I need sustenance, so I sit my butt down outside and eat a blood orange, fresh from the market. It is a law of the universe that something bad always has to happen right after a very enjoyable, sunny citrus kind of moment.
As per said law, when I return to my carrots, I am greeted by the smell of burning teflon. The carrots are perfectly steamed. The water is gone. The stockpot is ruined, complete with peeling teflon strips in the bottom. I trash the chemically-altered carrots and banish the pot to the patio.

That should read "BANISH the pot", because I did it with vehemence.

This is the same pot that I had been about to consult Pampered Chef about replacing because it was not wearing well. Now, however, I have ruined it all on my own and any hopes I had of it being replaced are dashed. Banished, rather... to the patio.

In confirmation of my MENSA-less capabilities, in answer to one of tonight's Jeopardy questions referring to a California city, I answered, "Las Vegas".

I live in California.

Dear All-Clad, I would be an excellent candidate for your charity. I would be ever-so grateful if you'd send a stockpot of the STICK variety, as I am permanently done with non-stick, to my address. In return for your kindness, I will be eternally devoted. I would even put a bumper sticker on my car for you or wear Soffe shorts with "All Clad" across the butt.

Even that.