I’ll be the first to admit that we’ve grown apart over time, although I’m not sure what went wrong.

But, please hear me out. Remember how it felt the first time we met? Your eyes were gleaming from the reflection off my stainless steel exterior and you ran your hands across my overwhelming selection of settings. We barely knew each other and you still knew just how to push my buttons.

The first time you touched me, it was like you read the instruction manual on how to make my water boil. And while it scared you a little the first time I released all of that pent-up pressure, you trusted me enough to let me show you what I’m really capable of.

You excitedly talked about all of the things you would do to have your way with me, like using the delayed start button so you’d have a piping hot meal ready when you came home. You also could just turn me on right then and there, knowing I’d be ready in an instant.

Maybe that’s why you feel like I led you astray? When you realized that sometimes I just needed some time to warm up and get going? Well, sorry I can’t magically just spit out gourmet meals in an instant. Let’s just call me the “15 minutes plus actual cook time” pot then, if you’re going to be that way.

You shared your hopes and dreams with me of making your own yogurt so you could sound like such a badass hipster homemaker to all of your friends, only to realize what a pain waiting 12 hours for milk to ferment and then canning it in sterilized jars really is.

You furiously defended me when others lashed out because soup was just as fast to cook on the stovetop, and why didn’t you boil the eggs in a pot? I’ll always thank you for that.

I don’t know what to say when someone asks you why you didn’t just go to the store instead of waiting five hours for crusty bread. They clearly just didn’t get it.

They just didn’t understand our relationship, and why a device that could double as a bomb was much safer left unattended than leaving a pot on an open flame. And I’ll be forever grateful for the time you really showed them what was up by making that cheesecake in three-quarters of the time (plus the two hours it took for you to find the right pan to bake the cake in, inside my pot… sorry about that).

It’s true that we’ve both changed; I have new models and you bought me so you could look like a model by making healthy and nutritious meals at (not) a moment’s notice. But you still manage to make me feel warm all over.

I just ask that you remember back to the good times, when you pulled apart those moist pork carnitas for Taco Tuesday after just one hour, or when you fork-fluffed that luscious risotto without stirring every few minutes. Think back to how many times I had dinner ready for you after a grueling day at work, longing for you to come home already. And if you still have made up your mind that I’m just a waste of space, I’ll have these fond memories to look back on when I think of our fleeting relationship.

So, my dear, I hope you’ll reconsider casting me away. I’ll be right here whenever you change your mind, alongside your electric wine opener, your strawberry chopper, mason jar butter churn, and upside-down soda server. Give me another chance to give you what you really need. At the very least, we can have fun and blow off some steam!

I’m still yours (even though you may have forgotten I exist),

Your Ex, Instant Pot

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