Whenever I can, I try not to do what everybody else is doing. (Except for blogging..yikes.) Being my own person is very important. I think making one’s own decisions says a lot, and changing one’s ways on the fly is, often, hypocritical. Giving in is not something I like to do. I see it as a weakness. Here’s an example–stupid, yes, but example even so: when everyone else was wearing Crocs, ug boots, and Clarks, I said no, sir. Not me.

(But, we won’t be talking shoes here.)

That said, I will discuss (shamefully) how I recently lost a courageous battle to be different. Here goes: I don’t mix it up on the kitchen front. On the contrary, I use the mixer everyone has (or at least wants), the glorious, red KitchenAid. Before you start shaking your head in disbelief, have you had my buttercream? (See above.)

It all began when I moved into a house with former roomie Katie on Queen City Avenue in Tuscaloosa, Alabama. The house had everything we needed: alarm system, cute decor, and, of course, a shiny new, red KitchenAid mixer. Bliss. Heaven. Shangri-la!

I used that mixer all the time. I credit it for single-handedly helping me win over my now-husband. The cupcakes I knocked out with that thing were, to say the least, mesmerizing. It wasn’t the cake mix, it was the mixer. I made them for Drew often, even going back to use the mixer after I’d moved out. When he proposed (not over a cupcake), I knew immediately what would be the first item to go on our wedding gift registry: a new mixer. (We ended up getting two!)

The one we didn’t return now sits proudly on our countertop, lording over our other appliances. It is, after all, somewhat like a king of the jungle. The biggest, most powerful, and popular always gets that title, right? I am mixer, hear me roar! (No?)

So the point is, I have to say without reserve that every baker-to-be should get a KitchenAid, preferably red. I’m a believer the red does something for the taste. The price is definitely worth it. The quality is, too. Mostly, though, using it makes me smile. I feel like the perfect 1950s wife who just got the latest Something-O-Matic. It qualifies me as a cook, stamps me with approval, my mixer.

Anyone up for a bake sale?