My hand mixer is possessed.
I know this because:
A. It makes an ungodly noise when you turn it on.
B. It only pulsates on two speeds—fast and warp.
C. It’s a Black & Deck’er.
Just made my first batch of Christmas cookies.
Things were going great until I stuck the beaters into the mixture of flour, butter and sugar. The batter mysteriously flew out of the bowl…and splattered itself across the front of my red shirt (warning: never wear red when flour is involved).
I thought I had done something wrong, but then I remembered I was using the hand mixer from hell—the one that needs an exorcism.
Last year my old one died when I was in the middle of mixing a batch of thick-batter cookie dough. I had to stir the rest of it by hand. At the risk of further indulging in a Laura-Ingalls-Wilder-pioneer-woman-fantasy, I immediately drove over to Walmart and bought the cheapest one I could find. After all, a mixer is a mixer, right?
Do not be deceived!
So, innocently, I dragged it out again this year. My first mistake was not remembering I had a devil of a time controlling the cursed thing last time I made cookies. Suddenly bewitched myself, I threw all caution to the wind and selected speed #6 to blend my batter. I swear the thing levitated off the counter. It was so loud and so screechy, you would have thought a coven of banshees had descended upon our kitchen.
Garth heard the sound and came running.
“What the heck is wrong with that thing? Sounds like someone
giving a cat a bath.”
“Nothing that Father Damien can’t fix.”
Menacing mixer or not, I gotta get those cookies made. Guess I’ll just say a few Hail Marys and pray for the best.
Honestly, I don’t know what possesses me to keep on using that demon mixer. Maybe it’s just like that old comedian Flip Wilson used to say…