Thursday, February 9, 2012

Why I Love My Countertop

I’ve been missing two cabinets and a countertop—between the kitchen door and the stove—for the last month. They fell victim to mold. Requiem aeternam, armarium.

The replacements are coming tomorrow and I’m giddy with happiness. Why?

Junk drawer—‘nuff said.

Cooking—yeah, well, it’s kind of nice to be able to put stuff next to the stove

Island of Lost Toys—every toy that gets “Mommy, fix it” or “If you can’t play with it nicely, you can’t play with it until tomorrow” has been homeless for a month. They’re squatting on my desk. 

Dog gear—no, it doesn’t get near the cooking. But the leash stays in the basket on the counter a lot better than it stays on a full bookshelf or an end table or on top of my purse or the kids’ shoes or…

Getting up—oh, yeah, I said it—I pick up stuff off the floor and wipe up stuff off the floor ALL THE TIME. I’m old and tired. Until someone declares himself my loyal knight and follows me around offering me his hand every time I bend over (Ryan Gosling, anyone?), I need my countertop. Especially when I HAVE been working out!

Just passing through—this countertop is the spot in my house equivalent to an hourly hotel. Hardened investigators come here looking for transients and fugitives. It knows drama—dun-dunh. Without it, things are just lost. 

Tomorrow, I will let you know if it’s as good as I thought it would be. Now I’m going to go sit down—oops, I forgot, I have to…

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