In The Cut

Typically, B and I cook together. I base this on the theory that he cooks better than I do, I have zero patience for cooking times, I can't open a bottle of wine on my own, and the fact that he doesn't trust me near knives, hot surfaces, or microwaves. In the kitchen, I am like a toddler with a lit candle in a room full of explosives, and B is my anxiety-ridden mom. But today, B fell victim to a case of allergies and a possible cold, so I was in the kitchen alone. Alone with all of the pointy sharp knives, the stove top and the oven, the sealed bottles of wine and of course, the scary microwave.

I was cutting the cheese (tee-hee. still funny.) the knife slipped (and by knife I mean potato peeler) and nicked my fingernail. I, of course, screamed, shut my eyes and imagined the worst case scenario. Bryan thought my hand had been severed (he's so dramatic) but I calmed him saying it was only a nicked nail.

At dinner, I was unloading the dishwasher (which was full of...KNIVES!!! AND TUPPERWARE!! GUNS!!!!) and I hit my shin against the sharp corner of the door. I, of course, screamed. B thought I had cut myself while unloading the knives, looking for my other severed hand. No knives, no severed hands.

Then as I was cutting up asparagus, a rogue stalk fell out of my hand and on to the ground so, naturally, I shouted an expletive that most people reserve for stubbed toes or cut up appendages. Out of habit at this point, B asked if I cut myself, rushing over like a trained EMT. And wouldn't you know? Not only did I not cut myself but I didn't overcook it either.

Looks like I can be trusted with knives and dinner after all.

I might be a tad bit obsessed...

...with this guy. 88% of the photos on my phone are of him. (other 6% food, 6% my dog) Good thing he married me or that would be creepy.

Pizza Face

Bryan and I just figured out we were on the same acne medication in high school. This means one of two things:

1) our kids are doomed.
2) we are soul mates.

Magical Fruit

We made beans last night. And I have meetings all day. And the office bathroom walls are made of paper mache. I might explode.

In the event that I do in fact explode, I want to give something to each and every one of you to remember me by.

I've given Bryan permission to auction off these items in remembrance of me:

- our 14 year old 36" tube tv. This 50 lb. beauty will break any tv stand you put it on. (Just like I would if you sat me on one.)

- a small collection of My Little Pony's. (I always wanted purple, plastic-like hair that melts together when you curl it.)

- an unused broom

- and finally an empty bottle of beano with the words "if only..." written on it.

Wish my co-workers luck. I'll let you know if I make it through. And in case I do, the TV and broom are still for sale...

Secrets

Bryan started telling me this story about "Aunt Flo" and I got really defensive, I said "how do you know about 'Aunt Flow'?" He said oh it's so-and-so's aunt...Aunt Florence. He went back to his story, I sighed a sigh of relief for women everywhere. Our secret menstrual code is still safe ladies.

I bet they still don't know what PMS really means.

"Saving money makes me laugh..."

Today Bryan told me that he thinks savings accounts are a funny thing.

I'm still waiting for the punch line.

You say Tomato, I say Pizza.

I said I wanted a salad for dinner. Bryan's response? "You want to go to Mr. Gatti's...or CiCi's?"

At this point, I'm not even sure he proposed to me. I think we both showed up at the chapel on the same day, at the same time.

Mr. Gatti's for a salad? I do.