She grabbed her phone, the glow of the screen illuminating her determined face. Her first stop was , the digital giant where she knew she could find every model from the basic Duo to the fancy Pro with Wi-Fi , usually arriving by the time she woke up the next morning.

She hauled it to the counter, the cashier nodding in silent approval. "Changing your life today?" he asked. "Just my Tuesday," Sarah replied.

By 8:00 PM, the kitchen was no longer hollow. It was filled with the rhythmic hiss-hiss-hiss of steam. Sarah sat on her counter, a glass of wine in hand, watching the digital timer count down. In ten minutes, she’d have chili that tasted like it took all day, bought from a shelf just an hour ago.

The kitchen felt hollow, a cathedral of unused copper pans and ceramic bowls that required more patience than Sarah possessed. It was 6:15 PM on a Tuesday, and the "slow-cooker" chili she’d started that morning was still a tepid pool of disappointment because she’d forgotten to hit the 'On' switch.

Twenty minutes later, Sarah was walking through the automatic doors of the local . She bypassed the OLED TVs and the gaming laptops, heading straight for the small appliances. There it sat—the box featuring a pressurized pot of beef stew that looked suspiciously perfect.

"That’s it," she whispered to the empty stovetop. "I’m getting an ."

But Sarah wanted to hold it. She wanted to feel the weight of the stainless steel inner pot before committing. She checked the app—they had the 6-quart model in stock at the store three miles away, right next to the aisle with the gourmet salsa. Walmart was another contender, offering the "Rio" model at a price that made her double-check the screen.