Where's My Apron?

I am a domestic goddess.

Come, my children. Worship at my stove top.

I spent this weekend cooking like Julia Childs (except with better teeth and no pearls). I had the Body For Life cookbook opened and managed to saute, broil and bake our entire week's worth of meals. Oh, stop! You needn't bow down.

This flurry of domestic activity threw my children off, as well. They walked around the house this weekend with wide open eyes and they were careful to speak in quiet, measured tones. I rustled up breakfast, lunch and dinner on both days and the only comment was from Dylan.

"I like your new diet book, Mum."

Uh-huh.

To support this change in lifestyle, Dallas and I had to spend buckets of money. The first gouge to the bank account was at the fitness shop where we stocked up on protein shakes. I was quite prepared to hate them because they've always tasted somewhat like vitamins smell but the Myoplex Lite stuff is good and there are heaps of yummy recipes.

Then, we went grocery shopping. It's a pity neither one of us has shares in Wal-Mart. Between Sam's Club and our local Supercenter, we spent an amount equivalent to my vehicle note. This included a new, fancy, schmancy blender for the aforementioned protein shakes because our old one gave off that smell that happens when steel grinds against steel. We were concerned it might combust.

Finally, all of the cooking and shopping revealed a desperate need for a second refrigerator. I had been tossing the idea of a new stainless steel number for about two years but I just couldn't seem to part with the funds. I used to walk into those lovely DIY home displays and see appliances that made my heart flutter but when it came down to it, I'd look at the cost and calculate how many pairs of shoes I wouldn't be able to buy if I splurged on a fridge. Seriously. A girl has to have her priorities.

Unfortunately, eating six meals a day made it impossible to ignore the fact that I have had a longer relationship with my fridge than my son. So tomorrow, the Sears delivery guy will bring our new stainless steel beauty with nearly 26 cubic feet of space, an ice maker in the door and cold filtered water whenever we need it. Old faithful will be moved to the garage and promptly filled with beer nutritious, lovingly made meals in matching tupperware.

I could have purchased several of these (and aren't they magnificent!):


But we bought this, instead:


Somewhere out there, Jimmy Choo is screaming.