Not a Cup of Sugar

Last night, as I settled in to drink a beer and watch Monster House, I heard a tapping at my chamber door. Strange. Visitors need to be buzzed in, and I had buzzed no one in. It must have been coming from the inside. I opened the door to find my new neighbor--the one I've never officially "met" but have just exchanged smiles and hellos with--standing very close to me.

She asked if I had a food processor. "We're making pesto," she said, "and the blender just isn't doing the job." I momentarily thought about suggesting a mortar and pestle for authenticity. But instead, I rummaged through my cabinets until I found my very dusty, very old, but still-serviceable Cuisinart. She seemed grateful. Why the hell, though, would a total stranger ask me for a Cuisinart. Do I exude foodiness? Do I look like a man who keeps kitchen gadgets?