Lesson #29: Couple-y Friend Things

My beautiful friend Bonnie and her beardo husband Taylor leave for Africa tomorrow.

Africa.  They're going to the Congo for Taylor's internship, and they'll be gone for nine weeks.

It's weird.  It's really weird.  Taylor and Bonnie were the ones who set Lyndon and I up.  Our "blind" date was with the two of them.  They've always been around for the two of us ever since the beginning of our relationship.  I got to watch them get married (Lyndon was busy doing Army things at Basic), they were both in our wedding, we live right next door to each other...it's just weird that they're going to be gone.

I haven't gotten to the sadness yet.  I'm too excited for them.  What an incredible opportunity to spread the Gospel, eh?  They've been such a blessing (pain) in our lives; it's time for them to go bless (bug) others.

But what are we supposed to do while they're gone?  I'm learning more and more how important they have been in our lives.  Marriages need that.  They need other marriages to relate to, to hang out with, to borrow milk and spices from, to vent to when necessary.

My dearest Bonnie,

I could be sappy, but that's lame.  You know I love you.  Come home in nine weeks, okay?  We'll make Indian food and watch Baby Mama to celebrate.  Goodnight, Gilbert!

Okay...so this wasn't really a lesson.  I'm over it.

Lesson #28: The kitchen is a dangerous place

I'm going to take a leap of faith and make the general assumption that I'm a decent cook.  Neither Lyndon nor I have died after a meal yet, so that has to be a good sign.  Even though the end result is usually a good one, the process is something entirely different.  Things are spilled, food on the stove boils over, whatever is in the oven is left in for too long, I cut myself, things in the microwave explode, pots and pans are left in the sink for a while, the stove has food all over it, etc. 


The whole cutting thing is not pretty.  On three separate occasions has that happened.  I was doomed the day we opened our wedding gifts and got four sets of knives.  I mean really, four sets?  One of the times, poor Lyndon came home from work to see his wife with blood running down her hand under water in the kitchen sink.  Another time, while washing a knife, it slipped and slashed my knuckle and then continued to bleed for 15 minutes.


As far as dishes being left in the sink, I blame that on my childhood.  My sister and I always had to wash dishes after dinner.  It was always a battle over who got to wash and who got to dry.  Some of my dishes, I use all the time, but I can't put them in the dishwasher.  That always just sounds like the worst after making dinner and cleaning up; therefore, they're left in the sink for quite some time.


Conclusion: I've accepted that I'm never going to be a clean, tidy cook.  Who cares?  As long as I don't drip blood into the food, what's the problem?  ...gross