I had a very welcome, very unexpected surprise today - a bonus from work. This was my first time getting such a coveted treasure, although I've heard of them. In the past I've either been to tenureless, or just worked for totally shitty companies. It feels like reaching a new level of grown-up accomplishment. I've held on to this spot long enough to be eligible for a treat. Woo hoo!
So with this new grown-up level of maturity comes a new level of foresight and responsibility, right? Like, investing the cash or being proactive in paying off pre-existing credit card debt?
PSH. Whatever. Why be fiscally responsible when there's Williams-Sonoma?
I came home tonight, hot little check in my chicken purse, and laid my careful plans out. "I was thinking," I said nonchalantly as I kicked off my shoes, "maybe we should get some new pans."
"Pans?" He mulled it over, taking his role as the voice of reason quite seriously. "Well yeah, we do need pans." We really do. Aside from my non-stick Calphalon skillet and beautiful All-Clad deep skillet (bought with the bonus card Macy's gave us from our wedding registry), the only pans I have would barely survive a camping trip. They were in rough shape leaving my mom's kitchen to my first apartment; five years later, and they're barely able to melt butter. I've resigned myself to the fact that, barring a win on Chopped or 1 vs 100, I'm not going to be able to get myself the gleaming, pre-destined pan set. At least for the better part of a decade. I've got to take advantage of bits and pieces, and slowly build my collection on the open-stock market.
"So, can we go to Williams-Sonoma?" I asked, like a 5-year-old jonesing for Baskin-Robbins.
"We don't need to go tonight," he said in that matter-of-fact, absolutely boring tone. "We can go on Sunday. That's a good Sunday drive."
Oh dear. I don't think so. There is MONEY burning a hole in my chicken purse, and there is no way in hell I'm letting it stay there! Where it could parlay itself into something practical... the shame! It was time to pull out the big guns. "But, you know.... if we went to Washington Square, we could go to......
The Cheesecake Factory."
He shook his head, cemented in his defeat. Cheesecake Factory is Matt's kryptonite. A card I don't play often, but always to devastating effect.
Williams-Sonoma is so pristine, elegant and classy, the Nordstrom's of kitchenry. I love everything about it. The forest green and pineapple logo. The polished, perfect pans in their places. The expensive sauces and mixes that are always worth it. I could spend the whole night in here, reading meal suggestions on labels, playing with gadgets, and looking at linens. Matt had other ideas, though.
"So which one are you going to get?" He asked, pointing squarely at the two I'd shown him in the catalog.
"Which one?" I didn't think it was going to be a choice. I thought I was gonna be dual-pannin'.
"Yeah, we can't spend $230 on pans." Oh :( I thought we could.
"I will love it forever," I vowed.
A short wait later, we were in the palace of gluttony, named for the birthplace of the most decadent of desserts. Despite the exorbitant price tag, and the diet-killing portions (seriously, my salad could have fed a family of four and was topped with ONION RINGS), it's all worth it to see him smile like this.
I guess it works both ways.