Even boundless generosity has its limits

How an unused food processor made mincemeat of a newlywed's consumer dreams.

My husband is of the generous sort and usually a delight as a shopping companion. If I point out a rhinestone-encrusted pair of shoes or a billowy dress on a mannequin or a particular bag in a dusty shade of pink, his response normally catches me by surprise. Where he could easily point out that I have at least 10 similar pairs, he takes my hand and leads me into the store with the words, "Let's go in and check it out." His take on that bag? "You don't have that colour at home; I like it."

However, I recently discovered that even my Mr T has his limits, and they pertain to kitchen goods. I can no longer hint, not even in passing, that a particular kitchen appliance or cooking utensil is the exact thing we never knew we needed. If I do, Mr T will raise an eyebrow and utter the words I have now come to dread: "We need that like we needed the food processor?" He says it in a taunting voice, as if he were asking me a question, when we both know there is no answer to be had. I am immediately silenced.

For the life of me, I will never know what it was about the wretched food processor that compelled me to own it. Time and again I would moan to Mr T that if only we had a food processor, all our cooking woes would be over. I would be whipping up cakes and cookies in no time. The blender could be used for creamy soups and healthy fruit smoothies; the grinder would blend our spices just so; the juicer would guarantee a glass of fresh orange juice every morning.

I was adamant that our lives would just not be complete without this essential kitchen appliance. This was not a luxury item like those cake platters I had come home with after a trip to get some light bulbs, I insisted. This was nothing like the salad tongs with the mother-of-pearl handles that I had promised would last us a lifetime. This was serious business: not owning a food processor was like living in a home with no sink.

Then guests came calling with a belated wedding present. Wrapped in a bright orange bow was the most beautiful food processor in the world. I was thrilled and daydreamed of all the culinary delights I would now create. It's been four months now, and I haven't used the blasted thing once. I dread the idea of having to wash all its bits and pieces, and I seem to manage just fine without it. It's taking up way too much space in my minuscule kitchen, and when I was cursing it a little while ago, Mr T happened to overhear.

When something new catches my fancy, it's pointless saying to him that we need it even more than we thought we needed the food processor. His response? "You mean, more than YOU thought we needed the food processor?"