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The cult of Thermomix

Mothers can talk about a clucking lot of boring shit, and right up there is the dreaded Thermomix.

I’m not denying the magical powers of this seemingly dream appliance as it sautes and mills and mixes and pounds and cooks and ices to make delicious, healthy food in less than one minute flat…

But I  hate the dreaded way it is forced on unsuspecting mothers presumed to be in the target market (Target market = have vagina + kid).  And the sales pitch and brain washing that ensues.

If a neighbour asks you over for a drink in the evening sans kids – BE AFRAID.

If a mother you know suggests a drink ‘with a couple of their friends’ – RUN.

You’re about to be Thermomixed.

To spare you some time, this, my friends, is what you’ll experience.

When you arrive expect a smiling Stepford-esque lady in a green shirt dolling out a mango sorbet palette cleanser before creating a to-clucking-die-for raw beetroot and mint salad in less than 4 seconds, followed by home-made tomato sauce and then pizza – YES, PIZZA. And then risotto and bliss balls and home-made clucking ice-cream. Did I mention the margaritas?

The only catch? It costs $2000.00

This shit is real. And it’s coming to a street near you.

I’ve never known an Avon lady but I can imagine they won their friends and friends-of-friends over by selling something to make their friends feel better about themselves.

The Thermomix lady takes this to the next level.

This demi-god combines the three dearest things to a tired mother – food and alcohol with time away from your kids, and then sells you the Thermomix using a lexicon that isn’t about making you feel better about yourself, but by showing you that welcoming a Thermomix into your bankbalance life will help make you be a better mother. A mother who’ll not only help her kids by plying them with healthier food, but one who will also increase quality mothering time as she’ll spend less time in the kitchen.

DANG. These bitches are good.

Of course the after-effects of the ‘Friday night drinks with a few girlfriends‘ Thermomix demonstration lasts longer than the taste of the delicious food leaving your tastebuds, or the icy margaritas.

The BRAIN CREEP that comes after an unsuspected visit can last months.

When doing something simple like spreading peanut butter on a sandwich you start thinking. With a Thermomix I could make my own butter in four minutes and my own peanut better with no additives in less than 40 seconds. I NEED ONE! or when watering the garden you look at the parsley growing wild and say to yourself If I had a Thermomix I could use that parsley to make parsley oil in 8 minutes. Or Pesto. I CLUCKING LOVE PESTO. It goes on and on.

Well played, Thermomix lady, well played.

To date, I’ve remained Thermomix-free, but I that’s only because I am ALERT AND ALARMED.

The power of this cult is strong.

And I really enjoy a Margarita.

Consider yourself warned.

 

 

  • M

    I completely echo your comments!

  • Emma

    so so so funny Sal! I have a vagina but no child and I am still getting hunted to join the cult. arghhhhH!

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