When she’s not dragging a blender and a kilo of ice between parties, Kate Wilson is a member of Sydney shoegaze band The Laurels.
I was a newly minted adult, sharing a real, inner-city house with other newly-minted adults. It had polished floorboards! A far and symbolic cry from the terminally un-hip deep-plush pile carpet of my suburban childhood. I decided investing in kitchen appliances was my next rite of passage.
"Mum" I said in my most serious adult voice, "I would like a blender for Christmas".
Christmas morning, I picked the tape from the wrapping paper in a restrained and mature fashion, to reveal my first blender. My heart soared!
"Thank you, this will be a great help in the kitchen!" I intoned as I responsibly folded the trimmings, casting a withering glance at my younger siblings ripping into their gifts with the un-tempered animalism of the youth I had left behind.
I arrived home and immediately set to work as the culinary queen of my domain, heading up the road to buy a bottle of vodka.
The first victim was the leftover fruit salad. In it went, with a cup of ice, a cup of vodka, and some lemon cordial.
"Eeeh" drawled my housemate approvingly, and thus was borne a monster.
My kitchen was not enough for my fruit-destroying megalomania. I was keen to spread my wings, and sought to display my both new toy and newly raised status as an appliance owner on the mature adult party circuit.
"Let's walk there" my friends would say en-route to ordinary gatherings I was certain to transform into high rolling cocktail soirees with my blender, leaking containers of fruit, unwieldy bags of ice, and the cloud of flies that enthusiastically followed me around that summer.
"No! I'm bringing the blender! Let's cab it!" I would reply cheerfully as their eyes rolled back in their heads.
Ironically, in my quest for adulthood, that blender became my security blanket—I carried it round everywhere like a maladjusted child. I could hold court in the kitchen, avoiding people in favour of the deliciously repetitive and solitary motions of cutting up ingredients and watching things whizz round. The halfhearted rictus of acknowledgement on the faces of my friends in response to my unsolicited favours became my drug—which was ironic, since there was plenty of booze going round.
I had to give up to grow up.
I still have, and love my blender, and every time I hear the choking whirr of it's motor I like to think it's saying to me, in blender language, "Don't be a d!*k".