A Breakup Letter to My Rice Cooker

My Dearest Zojirushi NS-ZCC10 Neuro Rice Cooker,

         The past month has been one of the best of my life, but I can no longer continue our relationship. This decision is not because I have stopped loving you. It is because as my love for you increases, so does my weight.

         Never will I forget the day I saw you on the shelf at the duty-free store in Baywalk Mall. I was new to the island of St. Lucia and looking for a little comfort in the form of food. You were beautiful: white, shiny, new, and within my budget. With all of their buttons and gadgets, all the other rice cookers seemed too complicated. You were simple and exactly what I was looking for in an appliance.

         You were faithful and dependable, and I loved you for it. You took me from the dark ages, when I slaved over a stove top. I could set you and forget you while I went on with my day.

         You were the perfect comfort food during the election of forty five. You were there for me in a stir-fry. You were there for me in a breakfast bowl. You were there for me in a jambalaya.

         I wouldn’t always add precisely the right amount of water when cooking, but it didn’t matter; you were always there to help fix my mistakes without judgment. I will miss the anticipation of hearing your timer ding and the steam that came tumbling out of your lid. I will miss the way you cook each grain of rice to perfection so I never had to scrape charred remains off the bottom of the pot.

         My best friend, Jasmine, and my Uncle Ben both loved you and will be sad to see you go. Thank you for treating them so well during our time together.

         However, these traits that I loved about you also gave  me pause. How were you able to make perfect rice each time? I’m inclined to believe that you are a witch or a sorcerer. You put a spell on me, and now, I eat only rice. Why eat anything else?! Who cares if I eat anything else?! My thighs, I tell you! My thighs care, which are now half an inch thicker than the day you came home with me.

         You are my past, but you cannot be my future. It is hard to imagine my life without you, and I will miss you. But I need to get my ham hocks under control, and I need to be alone to do it.

         Please don’t try to stay in touch. I can’t remain friends with you, because the temptation to fall into our old habits would be too great. It’s best for us to move on, which I’m sure you will do quickly since you are a quality cooker with a reasonable resale value. I will remember you fondly.

Snap, Crackle, Pop!

Kimberly