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Hello, Kitty!
By: Rachel Jensen

There’s no sense in sugarcoating it. I get the blues. More specifically, I get the winter blues. And when I get the blues, forays into la cuisine can be tricky. On the one hand there is the happy possibility that the act of cooking will have a mollifying effect. On the other, there is also the chance that my foul mood will permeate the entire process, resulting in a finished product that, while not completely inedible, is riddled with bad juju and amateurish missteps. The experience, I assure you, is far from sublime. It was the latter outcome one night last week (the crowning offense being a rabid bout of over-salting) that threw me into a hyperbolic spiral of culinary stage fright during which I thought quite possibly...no...most certainly...i might never...step foot...into a kitchen...AGAIN! And then...and then...

Well, Mariah sings of the night a DJ saved her life (“last night a...”) and so it was (sort of) for me in my pitifully low moment, that I caught sight of something lovely and astonishing. There, amid a jumble of don’t-know-where-to-put-it-yet junk, was the beatific visage of Hello Kitty gleaming all pink and white in the moonlight. My Hello Kitty toaster! In 5 years I had never used her. Perhaps out of some misguided, fetishized notion of respect, I thought I should keep her pristine; to be seen and not touched. But on this night, the illusion was shattered; the message was clear. It was time to make toast. And in the morning, I did. Last night a toaster saved my life...