When TSA pulled me aside this morning, I wasn’t surprised, because I had a batter hand mixer in my carry-on.
You know, the kind of plug-in mixer with two paddles. Maybe your mom let you lick the batter off when you were a kid.
I had a story ready. I was giving it to a friend in LA. The real story is too odd, too complicated. I moved from New York to LA, but not really. I moved...but didn’t take my stuff and I saw this in my storage unit and thought maybe I could bake something with all those cherries on sale now. (If only I'd remembered to bring a cake pan.)
But when the TSA agent opened my bag, she only cared about the coffee beans I was carrying.
¯\_(ツ)_/¯
You know, the kind of plug-in mixer with two paddles. Maybe your mom let you lick the batter off when you were a kid.
I had a story ready. I was giving it to a friend in LA. The real story is too odd, too complicated. I moved from New York to LA, but not really. I moved...but didn’t take my stuff and I saw this in my storage unit and thought maybe I could bake something with all those cherries on sale now. (If only I'd remembered to bring a cake pan.)
But when the TSA agent opened my bag, she only cared about the coffee beans I was carrying.
¯\_(ツ)_/¯
 |
| The offending mixer was purchased at Woolworth's on 14th Street and Avenue B in 1993. |
1 comment:
Yes, I got to lick the batter off those things.
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