Call Me (or Don't)

 Ms. Quacker Factory

Anita, your post couldn't have come at a better time. With the craptacular weather, I've been spending a lot of quality time with the television and have become entranced with the Yoshiblade (yoshiblade.com which, scandal, it took me 3 OKs and Cancels to leave the page without ordering!). Not that I slice a lot of pineapples, tomatoes or hunks of juicy medium-rare meat, but I am learning to cook. And it'll be sharp forever! A former roommate used to whip up amazing things from soup to margaritas in the Magic Bullet (buythebullet.com), so I have seen the amazingness of As Seen on TV kitchen gadgets (I'm totes registering for this). Hence, while I want to tsk-tsk at the eye cream, I am in absolutely no position to judge. I too have ordered a health-and-beauty product from the TV (the actual name I can't remember, but no, it wasn't a sex aid, and the outcome will stay between me, the poor depressed-sounding customer service operator and my Chase card representative who had to help me get out of that monthly billing wormhole). I also have not one, but two, TWO, aunts who have a deep love for all things QVC, including at one time, The Quaker Factory. While my mom received several of their luxurious sweatshirts, I lucked out with jewelry from the Joan Rivers Collection which is actually kind of cute, but it can't suck up soda from the carpet, cut through a tin can or provide my pet a perfect place to pee indoors. So useless Joan.