A Little Bling
By Allison Adams 11-25-11 / Submitted to The Greeneville Sun on 11-25-11
Thanks to a shorter list, a smaller budget, and a shift in priorities – I am almost finished with my Christmas shopping.
I’ve done most of it online, from the comfort of my broken-in desk chair.
I’ve also purchased some wonderful treasures from a few local artisans.
I’ve even threatened to create some handcrafted Christmas gifts for each of my family members, much to their chagrin.
Needless-to-say my plans for Black Friday most certainly did not include shopping.
Truthfully, I hadn’t even planned on leaving my neighborhood … until I noticed we were running a little low on toothpaste.
Before I dashed out to buy another tube of Crest I figured it couldn’t hurt to look through the stack of sales flyers that consumed the morning newspaper.
Never hurts to look.
Within a couple of moments I spied an ad for a sale priced gift I still needed to pick up, and before you could say “attention K-Mart Shoppers” I was jockeying my car into a parking spot.
In no time I nabbed a few deeply discounted doohickeys when I caught a glimpse of something sparkly out of the corner of my eye.
It was beautiful.
It was shiny.
It shimmered beneath the store’s lights so brightly I was temporarily blinded by the glare!
It was pristine!
I was instinctively drawn to it.
I decided it couldn’t hurt to check it out.
Never hurts to look.
As I moved in for a closer inspection I reminded myself that I was there to shop for gifts for other people.
Buying gifts for one’s self is a big Christmas shopping no-no.
But the closer I got to it, the more I knew I wanted it for my very own … and heaven knows I could certainly use a new cookie sheet.
Oh, sure, I already owned a cookie sheet.
Actually, I own three: three pitiful, cookie sheets.
My cookie sheets look like relics that were exhumed from some Civil War battlefield, lightly rinsed off, and sent back into action.
Am I alone?
My cookie sheets look as if they’ve spent time underneath my car catching dripping oil even though they’re routinely scrubbed within an inch of their lives with steel wool.
They look like they’ve served as the laboratory for a couple of unsuccessful science experiments, even though they’ve seen the business end of an SOS pad on a regular basis.
One of them looks like its been used as a parking place for my hot glue gun.
(Oh, wait – it has.)
In polite social circles I would describe the condition of my cookie sheets as “seasoned, with an Old World patina” – which, of course, is code for “warped and discolored beyond recognition.”
The bottom line is this: neither me, nor my cookie sheets have aged well.
I am so ashamed of them that I keep them secretly concealed in my kitchen.
(I could tell you where they’re hidden, but then I’d have to kill you.)
Despite their cruddy condition I’ve continued to use them, but I do so privately.
(I don’t want any witnesses as I chisel my baked goods from their nearly permanent resting spot on The Blackened Tray Of Torture.)
So … there I stood in the store aisle, staring at the display, green with envy at the sight of perfectly polished, super sturdy, non-stick, cookie sheets.
I wept at the baking possibilities.
Well. You’d better believe I left that store with a brand spanking-new cookie sheet in my shopping bag!
I couldn’t be any more excited about my purchase if it was hanging around my neck like an aluminum-clad pendant dangling from a stainless steel chain!
I just love a little bling!
Yeah, I know. I need a little bakeware therapy.
I also still need toothpaste.