We’ve had a kitchen scale in our kitchen for almost fourteen years now, and we use it two or three times a week. The scale is small, accurate, and attractive. It is also one of the most infuriating things in my life. Most of the recipes I work from use ounces, but this particular scale’s default setting is grams. While it does have a button to change from kilograms to pounds, the button is not a one touch, easy change sort of switch. This button requires a hard, prolonged squeeze that often requires both hands and an odd interpretive-dance sort of shaking float through the air before being convinced that ounces are indeed the preferred measurement. Sometimes it will cruelly flash ounces at me then jump back to grams just to make me scream or cry. No, there is not a way to change the default setting. No, I don’t know why we’ve kept it all these years.
Nor do I know why we put up with the light in our closet. Even though we bought it new, I swear this light had a previous career as the slow-to-warm-up, buzzing, flickering, dim light in scary movies. No wonder I sometimes emerge with wide eyes, a black skirt, and blue shoes. This morning the light decided to take on a whole new personality: disco strobe. It started out with the familiar buzz and dim brownish glow, then went dark again. Then light. Then dark. Then light. Then dark. We had to use flashlights to select our clothes.
My birthday was Sunday, and I kept telling my husband that I didn’t want anything, that I have everything I need, and so forth and so on. Well, retroactively, I want a new closet light and a new kitchen scale. I’m promising myself that this year, I’m going to deal with controllable annoyances to leave more energy for the numerous things in my life that are far, far beyond my control.
