"I don’t need any of it, and it’s just one more way to spend money unnecessarily. I’ve never ordered from this catalogue, not even once. The company might not make a sale, but it’s obvious I’m buying into something."

As I sipped on this morning’s coffee, I poured over a catalogue, one of several that came in yesterday’s mail. This one was filled with nonessentials for the kitchen. Its sixty pages were carefully laid out, with gorgeous 4-color photographs of handy gadgets that beckoned to me from its pages.

Here’s the irony: I seldom cook, so kitchen accoutrement is not exactly something I need. I stack dishes upon dishes in my cabinets and hide extra cookie sheets and spare muffin tins in the oven. But I can’t help myself. Whenever these marketing masterpieces make their way into my home, I feel compelled to take stock of what’s inside.

My ritual is always the same. I peruse the catalogue from front to back, and when I get to the end, I start over. I repeat this process until I’m pretty sure that I’ve seen every advertisement. I wade through the pages of high-end pots and pans, pricey German knives and dishes that I don’t need. I dog-ear those pages that catch my eye, then go back and take a closer look.

The nonstick aluminum hamburger shaper seemed like a good idea. With it I could form two perfectly round patties—“a big help when you’re grilling for the whole gang”, the description read. I recalled the last time I hosted a cookout and had problems making the right-sized burgers. A girlfriend came to my aid, and we had a good chuckle about their lumpy edges. As I considered purchasing this mold, I thought, I’ll never have to worry about lopsided hamburgers again. Something so simple as a hamburger shaper could transform me into the hostess-with-the-mostest, presenting perfect patties to my guests with a June Cleever-esque smile.

Whoa! Rewind that tape and get back to reality. Surely I can figure out how to form a pile of meat that’ll fit on a bun!

On to the next folded corner—the curved shish kebab skewers with the curly-Q ends. Again, the vision of cookouts came to mind. At two for $9.95, I could impress my friends and have the chic-i-est skewers on the block. Then I remembered how inexpensive the straight bamboo ones are that fit nicely in a drawer and how convenient it is to toss the used ones in the trash. Do I really need curly-Q skewers? Turn the page.

I am dismayed and discouraged. Thumbing through the ads started out as entertainment. Why do I bother to look anyway? I don’t need any of it, and it’s just one more way to spend money unnecessarily. I’ve never ordered from this catalogue, not even once. The company might not make a sale, but it’s obvious I’m buying into something.

As I pour a second cup of coffee, it dawns on me. What they’re really selling is inspiration. Those indispensable kitchen inventions are designed to simplify and improve my life. Maybe if I invest a few dollars in this or that, cooking will become easy or even foolproof. Perhaps I’ll gain the confidence to become the cook I’ve always dreamed I could be. Yes, for only $19.95, you too can be a culinary success! 

It will take more than a new gadget to turn me into a chef. I’ll resist the urge to buy, despite the temptation. This catalogue is going straight into the recycling bin. Farewell, my glossy friend, until next time. It’s been fun to dream.