I had a brief dalliance with a Nutribullet. And it broke my heart.

Image via New Line Cinema.

I’ve never bought anything from the TV before. Online, yes. But nothing that has been sold to me on an infomercial. Until the Nutribullet.

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The Nutribullet infomercial was so enticing: There was a woman who was feeling good for the first time in her life! The woman became more attractive to her husband! The prospect of a juice with NO BITS that apparently tastes delicious and fuels your body at a CELLULAR LEVEL (I have a science degree. I know that is bullshit, but still…).

I bought it.

It arrived.

And I loved it.

My first few Nutriblasts™ were a failure because I excitedly threw so much into it, but as soon as I worked out what tasted good, I was having one for breakfast (a creamy, green vanilla milkshake made from cashews, spinach, dates and chia seeds) and one for lunch (a salad with cucumber, spinach, apple and lemon juice that I froze in ice cube trays).

Check out a few of The Glow team's favourite smoothie recipes. (Post continues after gallery.)

I loved my Nutribullet. It was my favourite appliance. I used it and used it.

But it turned out that I loved it too much.

Because after 2 months of use, it started to tell me it was not ok.

First it started to scream. It emitted a high pitched wail every time I used it. It was so loud that my dog left the room every time I even looked like getting it out.

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Then it started to stink. Every time I used it, it gave off a burnt rubber smell.

The final straw (because for some reason I was so into it that I was prepared to put up with the screaming and the smelling) was the day that it smoked.

I released the cup and blades from the motor and smoke came out.

That was it. My sanity finally kicked in (delayed, I grant you) and I knew that having an appliance that screamed, smelled and smoked was unsafe. I couldn’t delude myself anymore.

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I called the small appliance electrician who had a look at it and he declared it dead on arrival. The magical chopping blades had seized up and the motor was trying too hard to make them turn. He did what he could, but the blades just wouldn’t spin.

It was over and I was upset – but the sparky couldn’t understand why I cared so much. I had, after all, bought it from the telly. He explained that two months is probably all I could have expected.

I didn’t want to hear it at the time, but now that I’ve spent a couple of months in mourning for my lost Nutribullet and unsuccessfully trying to mash up my food with an egg beater, I have realised he was probably right.

The marketing in infomercials is perfectly designed to lure people who buy things on a whim. It’s targeted at people who love things and then move on. For that reason, the product that you buy is probably also designed to only stick around as long as your enthusiasm for any trend is supposed to last.

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I was supposed to get over my love of squishing up my food and swigging it heartily like I was a backpacker at Oktoberfest. I was supposed to move on. My interest in it was supposed to die before the product did.

But my love survived. Long after the object of my affection died.