It's important that you know my mom seldom ever asks for anything for any holiday. However, in 1988, that was not the case. Long before our WalMart in Middlesboro became "super," Mom wanted a purple dumplin pot made for a brand of cookware called Visions. Aptly named because the substance allowed her to see through the glass and watch my dumplins simmer. At least that's what she hoped would happen.
I'm always supportive of any device that will increase Mom's dumplin production, so I was determined to buy the Visions cookware piece for her or die trying.
During the first day of Christmas vacation from school, I sped to WalMart to purchase the dumplin pot. As I moved my cart through the aisles, I could see the lovely lavender cookware resting on a shelf in the housewares department, but the store was so crowded, I had a difficult time getting to the piece I needed. Within an instance, a lady reached up above her head and took down the dumplin pot I was hoping to take home. After I fought even harder to get through the madness, I navigated my way to the Visions location only to find myself terribly disappointed. There were no more lavender dumplin pots for me to buy. The mysterious lady had packed off the last one.
It was with that realization that I committed my only act of thievery.
I continued to plow ahead with my buggy, and I was no longer looking for the dumplin pot. I was on a search for that lady who had it. I went through the fabric department, the sporting goods department, and then to health and beauty. She was no where to be found. Finally, I spied her back in the hardware department. I kept a safe distance but followed her throughout her WalMart journey. With every stop she made, I made an equal stop. I was careful not to be spotted; this was long before "stalker" became a commonly used term. After nearly a half hour, she finally wandered off away from her buggy back into the cleaning supplies. I don't know if she was buying a broom or not, but I was about to conduct a clean sweep. Quicker than you could say, "Dash away, dash away, dash away all!" I had swiped the Visions dumplin pot from her buggy and headed toward the cash register.
I am 99% sure I lost control of my bladder while en route to any open lane. I felt as though I had just completed a jewelry heist at the Smithsonian. I was incredibly paranoid, and I kept my eye on the service desk to see if the lady had come up to report the incident. It took an eternity, but I finally got the dumplin pot paid for and double stuffed in WalMart bags so I could run with it to my Buick and escape a certain doom.
Sure enough, on Christmas Eve, Mom opened up her dumplin pot and was most pleased with my gift for her which basically caused me to risk life and limb. I never told her the story of my struggle to land it until today.
The joke ended up being on me though. Mom tried to use the Visions dumplin pot to conjure up a bucket full of dumplins for me on Christmas Day, and it was then that we realized the Visions cookware was NOT non-stick. Many poor defenseless dumplins left this earth without fulfilling their true purpose because I was greedy and swiped a pot in which they met their doom. The image of their burned little bodies still haunts me today.
Here's hoping that all of your holiday cookware be non-stick and that your bellies are filled with every delicious delight you love.
