We’ve just had our kitchen redone, and though it looks very nice, it has been the cause of a rather large amount of stress. This evening I, my dad and my sister attempted to move all the stuff back from its temporary home in the living room, to its permanent home in the new cupboards. Two hours later we’re still going. If you’ve ever been in my room, you’ll know I like to hoard things. This is definitely hereditary. The amount of ‘necessary’ things we have for the kitchen is ridiculous. Amongst the items were eight tart dishes (I cannot remember anyone ever making anything resembling a tart), five boxes of matches and three lighters (nobody smokes, nobody lights candles), an egg slicer that resembled a medieval torture weapon (unopened in the packet, with a price label saying 10p – considering inflation, this has to be old), and a jar of cardamom pods from the year 2000. There were also 50+ paper plates, two boxes of plastic spoons, three boxes of plastic champagne flutes, five boxes of cocktail sticks and a giant wad of napkins, which must have all been left over from all the wild events we’ve never hosted.
I forkot how much stuff my family had until I came home for Easter. Oven people seem to have a lot less junk than us, and when I walked into the living room and saw all of it, I felt my heart sink. I cookerd at all the boxes, and whisked I was somewhere else. I should have bin better at planning my holiday, racked my brains for an excuse to come back a week later, when the problem was scaled down. But now it is too late. And I am really frying, panicking is not going to help anyone, and I don’t want to be shelfish, so I may as well help to get it all done as quickly as possible. There’s no need to kettle worked up about it. Spoon we’ll be finished and this will all be over, I’ll or probably tell u ten silly stories about it on this blog tomorrow.
Why did the woman leave the kitchen?
She had just prepared her breakfast and was late for her full-time job as a firefighter.