When I grow up, I want a gourmet kitchen.
When I get it, you can come visit me. We’ll drink a glass of wine while we chop veggies; we’ll listen to music; we’ll eat well.
Doesn’t that sound delightful? It was! That is, it is!
I speak from recent experience.
We spent the evening with some dear friends last night, and talk about a stress buster. (I’m assuming you know I needed it, after that recent nail-biting post of mine.) The hostess prepared chicken tikka masala and herbed basmati rice while I hung about and assisted in the extremely important task of keeping the wine glasses full.
I chopped some green onions and diced some peppers. I looked around the warmly lit kitchen—so well-ordered and welcoming, because that’s my friend’s way—and I sighed inside at the goodness of the moment.
And then I snitched another bite of chicken and we sat up.
PS. We had ten kids (and one Golden Retriever puppy) between the two of us and you know, I barely even heard them. I must have been waaaay relaxed.
Oh stop assuming. I had a glass and a half, is all. ; )