KitchenAid 14Pc Cookware Set - 2 Colors

by wootbot

True Kitchen Confessions

I thought our love was doomed… all because I saw his KitchenAid Cookware Set.

Kent was different from all the others. So easy to talk to. So down-to-Earth. In a city of boastful loudmouths who expect a girl to fall at their feet just because they throw a dollar around, he seemed like the kind of guy who cared about the real things. To someone like me, one of nineteen children of a humble pencil repairman, I thought I'd found a kindred soul.

Then, one night, Kent invited me to his place for dinner. As he brought the steaming stockpot of spaghetti and marshmallows to the table, my heart froze colder than the liver gazpacho we'd had for a first course. Those handles, that lid, the sturdy porcelain construction: I recognized them all from the catalogs I'd stared at so longingly for so many hours.

"What's wrong, baby?" Kent asked.

"Kent, that- that pot…" I gulped. I didn't want to know. I had to know. "Is it… KitchenAid?"

He smiled. How could he smile? "You know it. I've got the whole 14-piece set." Every word twisted the knife. "Skillets, saucepans, cookie pans, cake pans-"

"STOP! Just stop!" I ran blubbering from the kitchen, from the house, from Kent. Forever.

"Baby! Wait! Come back!" Kent called into the night after me. "It's not what you think! I can explain!"

I didn't want to hear it. I'd thought we'd understood each other. I thought we'd belonged together. But no. With that kind of premium cookware, Kent was clearly just another rich man looking to buy himself a plaything. He would never settle for a woman like me for a wife.

What a fool! When would I learn? I don't know how long I walked the darkened streets, hysterical with humiliation and self-loathing. Stay with your own kind, poor girl! The KitchenAid life is not for you! At one point I thought it was raining. But as a later look at the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration's climate records proved, it must have just been the tears.

Then - suddenly, then - there was Kent. Smiling. Beckoning. Holding a sheet of paper. "Look here, baby," he whispered. "Stop crying and look."

It was a printout of an email. It came from- could it be? It was! Oh, joy, it WAS!

"W-woot? A confirmation email from... from Woot.com?" I gasped and looked into Kent's flashing eyes.

"You know it."

"So you didn't pay full retail price."

"Nowhere near it." He laughed. I fell into his arms. Our lips locked together like a pair of spaghetti noodles that hadn't been separated in the first few minutes of boiling. All was right with the world. We were the same, Kent and I. We were one.

"Darling, I'm sorry I was so silly. Can you ever forgive me?"

"Hush with that talk, now," Kent whispered back. "It's almost midnight. What do you say we go back to my place and finish that dinner while we check Woot.com?"

"Oh, Kent. I wouldn't miss it for all the marshmallows in Italy."