There’s something deliciously rewarding about reaching a stage in life where you can finally purchase something you’ve always wanted but previously denied yourself, believing it to be a frivolous expense.
In times past, for me, that might have been buying a cute pair of strappy sandals or a blingy bracelet, but I seem to have achieved a new tier of adulthood.
After a stressful few weeks, I decided to engage in some retail therapy. I bypassed the malls and the cute boutiques and headed to At Home and Target.
As my sons would say, “That’s some next-level adulting.”
On my list: one thing I’ve always wanted and one thing I desperately needed.
Hold on to your hats, kids, this is where it gets exciting! What I needed was an electric can opener. (Your ideas of excitement may differ.)
In the past few months, I’ve spent almost $40 trying to replace my dull, aging and utterly useless manual can opener.
Efforts to open a can of tomato sauce or pinto beans became endurance contests involving much swearing. The opener consistently skipped a section of the lid. I’d start over only to have it glide over the top again, leaving me with a jagged-edged, partially opened can.
I assumed it was worn out and bought a standard $12 replacement. It, too, proved worthless. I thought it might be me, so I left the can opening to my husband.
Guess what? He didn’t have any better luck. The atmosphere in our kitchen grew quite colorful because his profanity vocabulary is much more advanced than mine.
Back to the store I went. This time, I brought home a fancy high-end brand. It didn’t work any better – in fact, it was worse. Derek pronounced it useless and suggested he dig out his Swiss Army knife.
“I’m going shopping tomorrow,” I replied.
My first stop was At Home, where I picked up a sleek black Cuisinart electric can opener for $25.
Next, I headed to Target.
It may surprise you to know the thing I’ve always coveted is a Black & Decker Dustbuster. How I raised four sons and owned multiple cats without a cordless handheld vacuum is a mystery. Did I mention we’ve lived in a late 1970s-era split-level home for 32 years?
Every spill or trail of dust or dirt (aka boy residue) on the stairs meant lugging out the vacuum or grabbing a broom and dustpan. Cleaning crumbs from couch cushions involved wrestling with vacuum attachments.
A quick trip through the self-checkout, and the treasure was all mine.
As soon as the Dustbuster was charged, I used it on the stairs. Within a minute, no trace of cat hair remained. I had so much fun; I took it on a home tour, busting dust on window ledges and under cupboard edges.
I was in a bit of a tizzy as our youngest son was driving home from Texas for a visit. My version of killing the fatted calf is mixing up a big batch of Creamy Taco Soup in the slow cooker.
Like I said, I was a bit distracted. I plugged in my Cuisinart can opener and mistakenly opened a can of chicken noodle soup instead of cream of chicken soup.
But let me tell you, both of those cans opened easily. No glitches. No partially opened cans. No swearing!
Retail therapy, adult style, may not be glamorous, but I’m living the dream, one small convenience at a time.
Cindy Hval 