Kitchen Goddess
I had an idea to make a mask of my domestic self, imagining her to be sweet, perhaps wearing blue gingham, a housefrau. I thought I would name her Peggy Crocker. Yet as I made her, she refused to be disparaged. No dissing this self! She coolly stared me down and demanded respect, morphing before my eyes into a queen of regal bearing. (Well, I am good in the kitchen). So far, she has refused to go in a drawer, although I have tried many times to make one for her.
Her eyes are corncob holders, her collar is an old potholder from childhood, the third eye is a cake decorating tool. Ears are jar rings.
She says:
“No sniveling Betty Crocker am I! Residing over all matters gustatory, I am High Priestess of yeasts and breads, Purveyor of all foods pungent and piquant, Supreme Flavormeister, Her Majesty the Queen of Quisinart. Experimenter, chemist, and grand garnisher, I am at home on the range and wield a mean mixmaster. I subject all subjects to eat the fruit of my kitchen experiments. I declare it good.”
