I should never have opened the brochure, let alone paid a visit to the showroom.
But the invite looked so, well, inviting, that I kidded myself I couldn't resist. Words such as "kid" and "lolly shop" sprang to mind.
But it was me, a grown-up, drooling over a rainbow of colourful merchandise and wanting, wanting, wanting. If my mother had been with me, I may have tugged at her sleeve and whined "I want one, why can't I have one?"
It was the grand opening of a swanky, new showroom for kitchen appliances. Shelves littered with beautiful, matching gadgets. Espresso machines, toasters, blenders, juicers . . . curvaceous and appealing, their pearly powder-coated skins glowing invitingly in the uplights. Design and "face appeal" overrode any thoughts of function or value for money . . . almost.
Just in time I cast my mind back to the cluttered cupboard, bottom left, under the sink. There lay my trusty food processor, her lines all angular, the clear, purple-tinged plastic foggy and chipped, the menu of functions scratched off and patchy.
She's more than 15 years old and has served me well. I've used this humble food processor for everything from making pulp during my paper-making phase, creaming butter and sugar for many a birthday cake, blending soup for sick friends, whipping up a batch of fresh breadcrumbs for schnitzel.
She still powers up, albeit with a bit of coaxing, and I've lost most of the attachments . . . but is it really time to put my old processor out to pasture? I think not.
I set my jaw, I clenched my fists, I sniffed at the shelves laden with temptation. Chin up, I turned on my heel, I left that showroom knowing I was not the type to have a fling with the new, the young, the shiny.
Throwing away what you've come to know and love for the latest and greatest is not my style. No way.