And Now a Word About Kitchen Utensils

A million picnics: this one a breakast picnic with our Gramma. I love it that Mom is wearing earrings with her seersucker short set.

Has anybody but me noticed how disgusting modern kitchen utensils have become? They are such THICK plastic and it seems the designers have chosen form over function.

Cushioned handles? Really? Like I'm going to be stirring that microwaved egg roll to the point where I need an ergonomically designed spatula handle lest the carpal tunnel monster strikes me down?

Many years ago I bought a 'new' potato masher. It looked so fancy. It must surely be the Apex of all potato mashing technology. Built upon the skeletons of all those old, less worthy, less functional potato mashers, it was bound to do the job in half the time and make me look good while I mashed the night away. Plus I seem to recall it cost the better part of a ten dollar bill so that HAD to mean it was top of the line!

But No. What it had was teensy weensy little holes in the black plastic that got stuck full of potato-being and could not be washed out. So I had to take a chopstick (from the microwaved eggroll no doubt) each and every time and poke out the coagulated remains of the mashed potatoes.

The result is that I just stopped using the thing and started mashing my potatoes with a fork. And thus, the cluttered kitchen utensil drawer is born.

Since my big, downsized move to new digs in the Gulag, I've weeded out all things useless and extra. But I had not yet managed to replace my potato masher because, well, like the swing-away can opener that has dissapeared from existence and been replaced with cheap Chinese junk, the traditional potato masher is impossible to find! They just don't sell them anymore!

After my dental appointment I decided to drift around through a few of the thrift stores on my route. I was mostly looking for gigantic ugly fat girl clothes with stains and rips everywhere so that I could replenish my wardrobe (why branch out into whole clothing? Stick with what works.) but I did want to see if there were any easy chairs for sale because this apartment is bare and there is nowhere for anyone to sit.

I had no success in those arenas but then I tooled down the kitchen goods aisle and there, pointing at me like a morning star with a message, was a bright shiny heavy metal and white plastic POTATO MASHER!

I kid you not it was sticking right out of the pile! It wanted to come home with me, the poor orphan! And it was only 50 CENTS!

There it is, in black and white.

And because I live at Gulag Acres it will be easy to dispose of the old one. All I have to do is take it down to the big table in the main laundry room and leave it there. It will be gone in 15 minutes! I know the Russians could not resist an upscale potato masher!