I'm not very good at making impulse purchases. I'm the person who clogs the aisle at CVS, reading the labels on four brands of calcium chews, before deciding that I need to think about it before dedicating a full 30 days to improving my bone density. When it comes to buying new cookware or kitchen gadgets? Forget it. (I'll be ready to explore sous-vide cooking roughly a week before the earth crashes into the sun).
Like, right now, I would love to get a new Dutch oven, but I'm completely overwhelmed by the fact that there are 17 color choices — and six sizes — on Le Creuset's website. For someone who struggles to commit to a paper towel color, this is difficult. As I've scrolled through the options debating the merits of each one, I have felt a seemingly endless range of emotions.
Hour One: I'm delighted to discover its new color, Provence, a soft purple that Le Creuset says was "inspired by the sun-drenched lavender fields of southern France." I imagine myself in a French farmhouse, preparing elaborate meals that I've seasoned with herbs from my own immaculate garden. I have striped dish towels that are never stained, I look effortlessly chic while wearing a headband, and my home always smells like bread. I add the Provence-hued Dutch oven to my cart.
Hour Two: I realize that I'm allergic to lavender and, the one time I accidentally used a lavender soap at a hotel, my forehead swelled into angry ridges that made me look like the dopiest Klingon in the universe. I have never been able to pull off a headband. I edit my cart, settling on Marseille, a deep teal that would've matched the stripes on my French kitchen linens.
Hour Three: Nothing else in my kitchen is Marseille-slash-teal. My blender and Keurig are both red — a bold shade of red seen on Coke cans, boxes of Honey Smacks cereal, and my own angry complexion, courtesy of eating like an unattended 8-year-old. I edit my cart again, deciding on Cerise.
Hour Four: I realize I don't know what Cerise is. It's a word I've never said out loud, so I watch a 10-second YouTube video about it. I imagine myself gesturing to my new Dutch oven and saying "Oh this? It's ser-eez. Ser-eez." I get into an argument with imaginary me, which ends with Imaginary Me in tears when I remind her about the time she pronounced escargot with a hard t.
Hour Six: I have eaten four bowls of Honey Smacks today. I select the Marine Dutch oven.
Hour Seven: Marine looks just like Mineral Blue. I don't want either of them. I read a Williams Sonoma review that describes it as a "cute little oven," but it doesn't say which color is the cute one.
Hour Eight: I don't think Mineral Blue looks cute, but I don't think any of them look cute. I wonder if this is why I don't have children. I ask Imaginary Me if we're going to die alone. She shrugs, and reaches for the box of Honey Smacks. It's empty.
Hour Nine: WHAT IS THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN OYSTER AND CASHMERE? THEY ARE BOTH GRAY; THEY LOOK EXACTLY THE SAME.
Hour Ten: I have bought two new boxes of Honey Smacks. I don't need a Dutch oven for Honey Smacks. Dig 'Em, the frog mascot, is the same deep green as the Palm color. His hat is Mineral Blue. Or is it Marine? I have no idea.
Hour Eleven: Palm is fine. Soleil is fine. Flame is fine. I repeat these short sentences out loud. Imaginary Me is reading from a list of every bad decision we've ever made.
Hour Twelve: BLACK. I'm ordering the black one. I unscrew the lid on a bottle of Alive! Brand calcium gummies. "Ser-eez," I say to myself, shaking a bright pink one into my open palm.
Hour Thirteen: Do I even need a Dutch oven? I click the tiny trash can, removing it from my shopping cart. I really need to think about this.