Registering for our wedding at Fortunoff yesterday, Amy stopped excitedly by the handsome, burly KitchenAid mixers on display in the front of the appliances department.

“Ooooh—David, I want a mixer!”

Me: “We have a Manhattan-apartment kitchen and we hardly ever cook. What will you do with it?”

Amy pauses, a perfect beat that would make Bob Newhart proud.

“Mix!”

“Oh?” I ask. “And what will you be mixing?”

Another beat.

“Ingredients!”