It’s not like that girly-needy feeling that sometimes overcomes me when I’m sad or pms-ing and just need to buy a sweater. It’s a necessity thing. Of course, I hate that word necessity because living in the Western world, there are few things that are really necessities. Food, yes. Clothing, just enough. Shelter too. Necessities.
But I’m longing for a crockpot.
And today, what do I find but my latest Woman’s Day magazine declaring “Slow-Cooker Suppers” tucked in between “Create Your Own Harvest Basket” (sounds boring), “Look 10 Pounds Thinner” (sounds impossible), and “Make Our Delightful Pumpkin Cake” (sounds orange).
I have been on many crockpot quests. To the mall. To several appliance stores. To departments stores. To Den Haag in Holland. To the Internet (where I really saw a Crock Pot called MIJOTEUR GRAND LUXE. Alas, when I tried to order it, the online store seemed to slip into nonexistence. Foiled again!)
So, I’m homesick for a big, huge crockpot. The kind that births pot roast and spaghetti sauce and chili and soup. But there just aren’t any 220 volt crockpots here. Nada. Nothing. Those of you reading this in Europe, if you know where one is, could you please let me know? My women’s magazine is mocking me today, and I’m longing for a slow-cooked, easy meal.
If you’re an American reading this, please do me a happy favor. Go into your kitchen, pull out that bad-boy, and hug it REAL tight. Bless your crockpot. Shower it with affection and much use. The sad truth of life is you don’t know what you have until it’s gone. Waaaaaaa.
Crock-pot-less in France