A mere seven days remain until we flee NYC. Today I decided it was time to clean out my refrigerator.
Have you ever tried to rinse out a jar of hot hot hot sauce that has somehow become coagulated, to the point of becoming frozen, after years upon years of idling at the back of a too crowded fridge? The label on this particular jar proclaimed: "Pain is Good". I rinsed it with a flow of scalding hot water and instantly got a waft of jalapeno laced agony.
I'm still coughing, a bit. Pain is NOT good, no siree Barbara.
Recently, a wonderful someone I know made it possible for Hubby and I to be the proud owners of 2,000 square feet of bubble wrap. (If you've never dealt much in bubble wrappings, this is a ridiculously large quantity.) It's totally awesome. I'm actually considering giving a roll of it to Nanny as a Christmas present, since she enjoys popping bubble wrap unlike anyone I have ever met. I can just see her, curled up on her couch, popping away, watching the ball game...
But I digress.
This gargantuan amount of bubble wrap has transformed me, who on a GOOD day borders on the obsessive compulsive, into a maniacal, bubble wrapping lunatic. Even Hubby has fallen prey to its crafty wiles. Last night he started bubble wrapping a small pair of wooden maracas before he came to his senses and said:
"Wait a minute, these things aren't even breakable!!!!"
They are not breakable. Not even a little. They are made of wood.
Dear Reader, send help. We are losing our minds. xoxo
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