Ah. That title speaks of intrigue, clock and dagger antics and meeting down at Mystery Creek with Nancy Drew. Does it not?

It's nothing as glamorous as that. It's the simple realization that every mixer which has perished from this earth has been at my cruel and unrelenting hands.

Standup Sunbeam Mixer. I was eight years old and I was making a huge batch of butterscotch chip cookies. I died a terrible and acridly smoky death. I have hated butterscotch ever since.

Various cheap handheld mixers.

Kitchen Aid Commercial Mixer. Making, what else? Cookies! Does anyone realize how indestructible those things are?! The fact that I killed one is a bit freakish, if not impressive.

Various not-so-cheap handheld mixers.

For awhile, I gave up on mixers. I mixed everything by hand. Like some sort of pygmied Amazon woman. (I still actually mix most of my cookies by hand because it's simply easier.)

However. Now that I am a adult and have a job it means that my muscles have atrophied into flabby bits of skin. So I have resorted to using a mixer when in a hurry. Or when I'm lazy. Which, between the two, is most of the time.

Friday night I killed our handheld mixer in the middle of making a batch of icing for a cake. I made a run at 11:30 at night to Wal Mart. I know, not the best quality mixers, but it should hold up for a bit. Right?

I quickly fell in love with my new mixer and its powerful speeds. It demolished anything I put its way. It was lovely! It was speedy! It was my mixer!

Until it died last night. Halfway through my second batch of icing. Dead. Died. New mixer is now the dead mixer.

This doesn't bode to well for my abilities to sustain children or pets. You know?