I know I mentioned in Do Not Operate Machinery and probably a few other posts that Momma always said I didn’t have a lick o’ common sense. Momma had common sense. Poppie has common sense. For me, it’s just not there. The obvious is never obvious to me.
Momma left for God’s greener pastures almost two years ago and I now cook dinner for Poppie and I. On the days my agenda is full, I fire up the crockpot. Yes, I know we are supposed to call it slow cooker because crockpot refers to a name brand but I like crockpot, okay? Mostly because crockpot sounds like it has some mental issues. Like me. I am new to crockpot cooking. Even though wild claims were made that it would not set your house on fire while you were at work, I was afraid to use them. I had a very tiny one that might have been able to warm up a can of baked beans but I never used it. Not even once. Over the years, everything but the actual crockery deteriorated to near-nothingness.
I bought a new one a few years ago. Holding 3 quarts, it seems to be just the right size for two people. At $14.99, you can’t expect it to have a cord holder but I always wanted one. The cord dangled everywhere because I was too lazy to use a twist tie on the cord.
The other day, Poppie put my crockpot in my “mailbox” at Poppie’s house with the cord fastened like this:
Genius! It’s a darn tootin’ cinch I would have never thought to bend the end of the cord like that and slip it through the handle. Not in this lifetime.
For all you folks with a defective or missing common sense gene, I hope this helps.