Just doing my part to fight crime

My husband and I are not picky about the cars we drive. This has nothing to do with any sense of self-denial for the greater good (if so, we’d ride bikes everywhere, right?) — but everything to do with the fact that we’re cheap, stingy, sons-of-motherless-goats. Both of us.

So, while I’ll admit to admiring my share of late-model Volvo wagons; will confess that I secretly, mildly curse every woman I watch open the hatch and both side doors of her minivan by pressing a sleek button from a distance of 100 feet as she balances a toddler and five bags of groceries on two shoulders; reveal that in-dash navigation systems make me tingly all over — I do hold tight to an advantage my stripped-down, used, pre-cool-model, blend-in gold Honda Odyssey has over all of these things:

No one is breaking into it.

(Knock on faux wood-grain interior.)

We are just not flashy people (again, cross-reference the part above about our frugality, our miserliness, our motherless-goatness). We have a flat-screen tv, but stash it way up in our attic playroom so no potential ne’er-do-wells can see it from street view (we do live in a city, a city where most every neighborhood has its share of petty thievery, usually targeting flat-screen tvs).

I take comfort, walking in my 7-year old Danskos, that nobody could possibly want what I have. Why should someone try to steal from me?

This thought is so prevalent in my mind — this precious way I have, of balancing the scales of covetousness — that it was my first thought today as I wiped the splattered egg white and flour from my Kitchenaid stand mixer, like washing down a thoroughbred after a good race. I’ve had this tilt-head classic for almost 10 years, but by looking at it you would think I inherited it from my grandmother. Packing tape holds the hinge pin in place, and motor grease seeps out underneath. The butter, oil, flour, and eggs of countless loaves and cakes past has given the once-pristine white sheen a yellow haze, like teeth in need of cleaning.

We once purchased a replacement — a Kitchenaid Professional, with larger capacity and improved dough hook — but it couldn’t whip a small amount of heavy cream, a task the least of which I felt I should ask my mixer to do with ease. So we returned it, and kept our Little Engine that Could. No, I will never be able to mix enough dough for 4 loaves of bread — and I fully expect one day for the hinge pin to break free from its cellophane binding, sending the mixer head crashing to its death on my cold tile floor.

Until then, though, it’s safe in my kitchen, safe from would-be culinary thieves. No one will peer into my empty house one day, and break glass with eyes set on this mixer as misdemeanor prize.

But since I do occasionally leave my Le Creuset dutch oven in full-kitchen view, I’m double-locking my doors, just in case.


This post is part of Simple Lives Thursday, at GNOWFGLINS.

16 thoughts on “Just doing my part to fight crime

  1. Love this. Beautifully written. And so you. I love that can I still feel semi connected to my friend Katy everyday as I slip on my 7-year old Danskos. (But surely they’re older than that?) One of our college students stopped me a week or so ago to compliment the scuff marks on my pair. Then he strolled away in his new, but tattered, Toms (not that there’s anything wrong with that).

    1. Both of my pairs are at least 7 years old — and one pair no longer fits after my last pregnancy.

      Wish I could do Toms. I’m too old, with persnickety feet that need support.

    2. My favorite pair of danskos bit the dust right at 7 yrs. The sole split in half. I still haven’t thrown them away. I bought a new pair of danskos to replace my plain beloved black simple ones. The new pair was a “fancy” mary jane style. Less than a year old and the rivet broke. Now they are in the garage and waiting for me to find a shoe repair man. I love danskos!

  2. Oh how I love my Kitchen Aid too! I coveted my friends for such a long time, her’s was red. I waited for about a year and finally by husband surprised me with one. It’s plain white, but I do love that thing.

    1. see, if it was red, it might not show dirt as much… (I’ll probably never own a white car again, either — unless, of course, it’s the cheapest option!)

  3. I love this tribute to your favorite things. There are just some things too good to let go of — if it’s not broken, why fix it? (although, when it’s time, splurge on the auto-everything van. you’ll never go back)

    1. oh, Michelle, I know. It’s kind of an “ignorance is bliss” thing. Only without the bliss.

      I’m thinking, when the time comes, I’m done w/ the minivan. I’ll splurge on that Volvo.

  4. There definitely ARE benefits to being cheap-cheap-cheap. A teenager was busted trying to kick in my kitchen door one night in January and taken “downtown.” I kept thinking how angry the kid would be when he discovered my house is populated mainly with anitques, pottery, and historical non-fiction hardbacks. There is absolutely nothing of value in my kitchen — if you recall, my stand mixer is an ACTUAL antique.

    Other rewards of being cheap includes the smug sense of pride I get to feel when I can say to someone at work, “Oh, you like my brand-new Stuart Weitzman black-patent leather flats? Yes, the retail price is $295, but I paid $12 for them at that store you refuse to go to, because it’s a digger’s paradise.”

    1. My friend Emily and I like to try and sell the stuff we find at thrift stores to the very people who refuse to walk inside them, on Etsy.

  5. The joke in our house is if the place was on fire, and my husband and son were safe in the car, I’d go back in for my KA mixer. I know I CAN cook without it, but I don’t want to.

    Our pin is in the same boat. We use duct tape as it “matches” my silver mixer. We’re classy like that…:smile:

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