The Story of the "special" Crock Pot.

I have accomplished alot since we last spoke. I talked to my sister and my mom on the phone and they discovered that while they were enthralled with my sister's car blowing a headgasket and her being stranded along interstate, I was lying on my deathbed in agonizing stomach pain. We chatted a bit. I forgot to tell them about the IKEA dream.

I loaded the dishwasher. I made myself a gourmet lunch of Chicken Flavored Ramen Noodles. Mmmmmm. Now I am trying to eat them without the sickness taking over.

I called to check on our furniture at Sofa Mart (furniture row) on December 26th I was told it would arrive in 4 weeks. It will be 4 weeks on Monday, the 24th of January (next Monday) and of course when I call they tell me it hasn't even reached their distribution center (it's not off the boat to the states yet, damn italian leather!) and that it will probably be another 2-3 weeks. I tried my best to not come unglued on the salesgirl who took my call, but I noted to her that we have a gathering in our home on February 13th, and that we were told the furniture would be in on January 24th, and that there is a probability that if the furniture doesn't arrive by then I will come unhinged on Sofa Mart. She alluded to the fact that there was nothing she could do about the boat and that she was making a mental note to never answer the Sofa Mart telephone again. And she made a feeble attempt to say "it could still arrive earlier" which made me count backwards from 10 and tell her "good day."

I decided to make a roast. For supper. Italian Beef. That ought to soothe the stomach, eh? So I got the roast from the freezer, defrosted it in the microwave, and carefully carried up the Oval Crock Pot. New let me explain, that this crock pot is my baby. When we moved in together I despertely wanted a crock pot. I wanted the black and chrome model, not some crappy country blue thing with hearts and vines. Or how about the brown one from the early 80's? GAG. Those despicable excuses for crock pots make me cringe each time I see a mother with poofy hairsprayed hair carrying one to a potluck. GET A LIFE! GET A NEW CROCK POT! THEY ONLY COST $30 Freaking Dollars!

Well, When we moved in together I got my fabulous black and chrome crockpot. And I Loved it. There was an unfortunate crock-pot incident that made me come unglued one Saturday morning. We didn't have a dishwasher or a garbage disposal. I will leave out the grim details and say that there was some grease/liquid that needed to be disposed of. I was going to be sneaky and housewifely and tiptoe outside to dump it. I had on my weekend costume of t-shirt and boy cut underwear, no pants, no bra, no shoes.... barefoot with my hair in a ponytail.

As I got out the back screen door (which is an evil trap of a screen door that has no spring left in it) The handle of the crock pot got caught on the handle of the screen door, ripping it from my hands and crashing it to the cement patio with a deafening shatter. So there I stood, in my underwear and t-shirt, outside, with barefeet, the crock pot and the lid shattered ALL AROUND ME and grease/drippings all down my bare legs and feet, and all on the ground. I panicked. Every bit of stress and worry and sadness that had happened in my life compounded into that moment and was represented by the shattering of that precious crock pot- and I, the calm cool and collect- Lost it.

Evan was in the kitchen and heard it happen and he came running down the back stairs and the look on my face must have been like Lucille Ball before a crying episode and all I wailed was "My Crock Pot! Waaaaaahhhh!" and Evan was totally the man in the situation. He was like "don't move" and he got a broom and swept up all the glass around me and picked up the pieces. The whole time I was a sobbing crying mess and he kept saying "it's okay, it's only a crock pot" and I would counter with shoulder racking sobs "but... it's... my... special... crock.... pot......" and he would say "we will get you another one! They only cost $30 FREAKING DOLLARS" and I was like "sniff... sniff.... really? I can have another one?"

And in that moment I loved him so much. The man who cleaned up the glass and didn't abandon me in my time of desperate need. A lesser man would have ran the other way. But he cleaned it up, and we looked FOREVER for a replacement crock for that crock pot, it was 4 months old and Rival didn't even make that one anymore. So we had to buy an all new crock pot, the exact same model. So now in the basement we have a spare "outside" for the black and chrome rival crock pot.

SO whenever I move a crock pot, I am excruciatingly careful. I don't need my whole life shattering before my eyes again. And today when I was making that roast I almost cracked the lid.

May you never break a crock pot, and if you have, I want to hear about it.