“Why?! Why don’t you want me to have my cutting board?”
It’s not like I wanted to make a scene in the kitchen chairs section of Ikea; it just felt necessary.
It was $12.99 and I needed it and I know we have cutting boards already, but I’m tired of my broccoli all falling off of them because they are from the tiny-kitchen days. (How quickly things become nostalgic from a cozy, white, fold-out sofa across the bridge.)
Once my Aunt Stacy told me she cried because she wanted some kind of floor in her bathroom that my Uncle Mac said wouldn’t work.
“What did Mac say?”
“Nothing. But I got the floor.”
I thought it was silly at the time, but I might have cried for this cutting board. It’s kind of like all those tears I might have cried for lonely nights or boys who didn’t call back have to go somewhere.
And I love my new cutting board. My broccoli doesn’t fall off and it even almost fits in the sink.