The Kitchen Appliance That Boosted My Love Life

After nearly 20 years of faithful service, our toaster bit the dust. Or rather, it burnt the bagel. For months we’d had to jiggle the cord to find the just-right angle that allowed the ancient appliance to turn on, so I finally agreed it was time for a new toaster. One that actually toasted bread without causing us to consult our homeowners insurance policy for details on kitchen fires.

So I did what I always do when it comes to shopping: I started to bargain hunt.

You see, I was raised as a farm kid in the 1980s. That might be a very niche reference, so I’ll translate: growing up, my family didn’t have a lot of money. My wardrobe throughout most of elementary and middle school consisted of hand-me-downs from my older sister, secondhand items from a store in town, and sale items from Kmart or Target in the “big city.” Vacations were epic road trips and camping, and special treats were orange push-ups from Schwan’s.

My mom taught me to make a mean loaf of rye bread, to cheer against soap opera villains, and to shop on the clearance racks. Those are all invaluable lessons I’ll be forever grateful for.

My bargain hunting, however, has caused marital strife through the years.

When my husband bought a t-shirt that cost more than $10 or invested some of our hard-earned dollars on another high-quality car-washing tool, I waged a passive-aggressive war. I’m sure my neighbors could see my eyeroll and hear my heavy sigh from across the street.

“Are you kidding me with that t-shirt?” I exclaimed. “I got this v-neck on clearance at the Gap for $3. And look at this sweater. They were practically giving it away.” I tried not to draw attention to the already-stretched neck on the t-shirt or the noticeable pilling of the sweater I’d only worn once.

In his steady, non-confrontational way, my husband gently reminded me — again— that you often get what you pay for.

“Your $3 t-shirt will last you a season. But feel this. I’ll have this shirt for years,” he bragged as he held up his higher-priced shirt. (Okay, maybe he’s too nice for overt bragging, but I like to imagine he was smug and insufferable.)

I stomped away in my $10 Target sandals. Sure, they hurt my feet and left blisters, but they made my stomping so dramatic.

For years this confrontation continued. My husband would research for hours, bookmarking sites and reading reviews before deciding on the best-rated microwave, grill, or meat thermometer. And I’d grab the cheapest option I could find on an end-rack at a discount store.

Eventually, though, I noticed a pattern.