I used to live 6 minutes from where I worked. Now I live 30 minutes from work. I used to go home just about every day at lunch. I’d let the dog out, throw the laundry in the dryer, or stir whatever was in the crock-pot. Then we moved.
I didn’t do it on purpose, and I certainly didn’t mean to hurt anyone. We used to be close, literally, but I drifted away. It was my own fault and I don’t blame anyone but myself. Our relationship became so damaged that I figured it irreparable. It was at that point that I made the decision to do the hard, but right thing, and I broke up with my crock-pot.
I just couldn’t maintain a 30 minute distance and have confidence that the crock-pot would do its job when I wasn’t there to supervise it. You may say that I have trust issues, but I really didn’t have a choice. Now some time has gone by, and I realize the mistake I’ve made. I didn’t understand the value of the relationship the crock-pot and I actually had. I’ve apologized and tried to make up, but the crock-pot is having none of it. It’s bitter, unforgiving. Each time I try to use it on low, the food isn’t tender; each time I use it on high, it turns out dry, burnt dishes.
I’m sure in this case, the old relationship saying is true. “It’s not you…it’s me.” If you have any help for me and my crock-pot, if any recipes or tips; please don’t hesitate. Post them…um, post-haste, before this relationship is irreconcilably over.