Ode To A Small Pot
Oh, small pot,
That day at the thrift store, when I saw you jammed haphazardly on the bottom shelf,
I knew we were meant to be.
I needed you -
Mainly because I was planning on melting some wax for a crazy scheme that I’d seen on the internet for making homemade deodorant,
And I didn’t want to use any of my GOOD pots.
I just needed something cheap,
Something that could be destroyed without care,
Something that I could use without my husband complaining that everyone (except for him) is hell bent on ruining our house and everything in it.
When I went out to escape just this sort of harassment,
I ended up wandering around the Salvation Army -
After first buying some chocolate and a few avocados at Loblaws.
As I walked past a sketchy character in the men’s pants section,
I saw you there, amidst the rest of the junk and clutter and a few shadeless lamps,
There was also something beside you that could’ve been a sex toy but was probably just a strange kitchen utensil.
It always amazes me the kind of stuff that winds up in these places.
Anyway, I knew I’d have to bring you home.
$2.99 – I couldn’t beat the price.
And you were SO cute,
Plus, I was starting to sneeze.
Second hand shops do that to me sometimes.
I had to get out of there.
And now – after successfully melting that chunk of wax,
But not using the homemade deodorant because it didn’t work very well -
Here you are,
So helpful in cooking two boiled eggs without having to use a regular-sized pot.
We love you.
At least I do.
My husband doesn’t.
He says you are probably toxic because you are made of Teflon.
Besides, marriage is about compromise,
And I have to ask myself,
Do I really NEED you?
Or would I rather make my husband happy
So that someday he will get less angry when I buy something a lot more expensive like that $500 pair of boots I’ve been eying for a while now.
I’m afraid it may be adios to you, small pot.
Don’t hater the player.
Hate the game.