It's Like Watching Wilson Float Away

You've never known self-restraint until you've been to a Pampered Chef party.  Because all of their shit is awesome.  ALL OF THEIR SHIT IS AWESOME.  
When it starts and they do demonstrations, at first you're a total non-believer, like, pshhh whatever, I know how to cook with the same tools that I've been using for decades because that's the kind my mom and my grandma used to use and they work just fine; I don't need any of your newfangled culinary sorcery.  But after awhile (and you don't even really feel it start to happen), you become mesmerized and find yourself whispering to the person next to you:
Did you fucking see that?  They just baked a cake in 10 minutes.  In the microwave.  In the goddamn microwave.
And then they pass around the catalogs that are filled with so much cool shit that you never even knew you needed:  
A mango slicer?!  Omg, I could totally use one of those even though I'm allergic to mangoes.  I know exactly which drawer I would keep it in too!
Holy shit!!! It's a whole collection!  A mango slicer, an apple wedger (and corer included!), and another one specifically designed for pineapple!  This is perfect for my OCD!  It's like they know me.
Oh wow! A brownie pan? It automatically makes the brownies into squares, yo.  You don't have to cut them and get the crumbs all over!  Holy shit, I bet you could use it to make cornbread and mini-cakes, too.  It's a total multi-tasker.
So it continues, on and on, through the whole catalog, until you have a list of shit you want to buy that's longer than your fucking bucket list.  And then, the challenge begins.  Because you obviously can't buy all of the awesomeness that you want to because surviving life makes you use your money for stupid shit like paying bills, not buying stuff that will help guide you into culinary greatness.  It's like life doesn't even want you to achieve the goals you never even knew you had.
So the choice-making starts.  And it's like Sophie's Choice.  Or deciding who to vote off the island.  Or putting all of the stuff you want to buy into the glass bowl for The Reaping.
And eventually you leave the party glad for the gems you were able to get, but saddened and somehow broken by what you had to walk away from.  And you tell yourself, It's ok, you didn't really need those two extra pie crust shields.  And the canister that automatically sifts the confectioner's sugar onto the pastries of deliciousness would've been too much.  Where would you have put it anyway?  ... and then as you get into your car you realize where you would've put it, and you put your head in your hands and sigh, In the fucking cabinet by the stove, that's where.