Unlike my body, my brain didn’t survive the 60s…but I’m not crazy. I’ve done some crazy-ass things…but I’m not crazy. After reading this, you’ll likely scratch your head and avoid me when you see me on the street or sitting inexplicably on a camping chair in your garage, smiling…but I’m not crazy. I have a crazy story to tell…but I’m not crazy.
It started about 10 years ago when I bought a beautiful new food smasher so that I could smash food down to its basic atomic parts to make guacamole. I smashed green peppers, green onions, cucumber, garlic, avocados and more into precise nuclear arrangements that, when aligned under the right celestial conditions, produced the best guacamole in the world.
People travelled from afar to challenge me in guacamole wars, but I invariably sent them home with their legs behind their tails…or shot them. I was a happy man with a wonderful food smasher. Things couldn’t get better.
But they could get worse.
At the beginning of this week, it occurred to me that I hadn’t made guacamole in a while and I decided it was time. I bought guacamole-friendly vegetables and lots of avocados and laid everything out on the kitchen counter ready to be smashed into the world’s best guacamole. I opened the cupboard door to fetch my beautiful food smasher but, as soon as I saw it, I knew something was wrong.
This wasn’t my beautiful food smasher. It was something else.
It was too big. The food smashing drum was twice the size it should be. The handle was too high, too wide. The contours were all wrong. It was cumbersome with not a hint of the sleek and efficient design of my beautiful food smasher.
I checked my memory:
Have you seen this before?
Did you trade your beautiful food smasher for this abomination?
Did you unknowingly buy this…thing?
Do you have any idea how it got here?
Are you sure you haven’t seen this before?
I was stymied.
But I decided to use it anyway. I filled the bowl with pieces of green pepper and green onions, put and pressed the button. I made noise that I’d never heard before. Loud, unacceptable noise with no food smashing results. It wasn’t smashing the peppers and onions to anywhere near the atomic parts I needed to make the world’s best guacamole. It was a dismal failure as a food smasher.
I called my daughter in Edmonton (3000 miles away) and asked her if she’d replaced my beautiful food smasher with a failed food smasher. She denied any involvement, pleading distance as proof of innocence.
I was further stymied.
I couldn’t think of anyone else who would dare venture into my hovel. I couldn’t think of anyone else who would know the location of my food smasher. I thought, You must be wrong about this. You must have remembered your food smasher wrongly. You mind has failed you. I looked in the cupboard again. Maybe I somehow, accidentally had two food smashers. It seemed to be in the realm of possibility. I may not be crazy, but I certainly wasn’t playing life with a full deck of cards.
And then I saw it.
Sitting off to the side.
A food smasher attachment. I grabbed it and tried to fit it onto the failed smasher. It wouldn’t fit. It was designed for another smasher…my beautiful missing smasher.
I wasn’t crazy. Someone had actually switched smashers. How? I don’t know. Why? I don’t know. Who? I don’t know.
But I will find out.
If anyone has any information leading to the apprehension of the food smasher switcher, please contact me. There will be guacamole in it for you…the world’s best guacamole.
As for the switcher…you know who you are. You know what you did. I will find you.