This past weekend, my best friend Adrian (momma of Baby Crumpet) flew all the way out from Seattle just to help me pack. (Now THAT'S a good friend!)
While I was putzing around the junk in the living room and sorting through books to keep and books to sell and moping about having to leave this lovely apartment and doing what seemed like forty loads of laundry (all of which consisted of sheets and blankets - WTF, did I rob a Linens & Things in my sleep?), Adrian focused intently on packing up my kitchen. Everything in my kitchen. It was a miracle of efficiency. (She is a managing editor, so efficiency is to be expected.)
Fast forward to today. I come home, pull some leftover Egyptian chicken and rice out of the fridge to heat up for dinner, throw it in the oven and set the timer...wait, where's the timer? Crap. Okay, stare at my cell phone clock for fifteen minutes. Then, when I can smell the fragrant spices of the chicken, I grab the oven mitt...shit. Where's the oven mitt???
Eventually, I got the chicken out of the oven and threw it into a bowl. One of two she left me. And a mug. And an assortment of purple plastic forks and red plastic knives. And a jar of peanut butter.
Oh, that wacky Adrian. So very efficient! Heh!