Two Weddin's and a Baby

In the last three months I purchased a wooden salad bowl, a serving platter and a baby bouncer. Not for myself, thank Jesus, but for three childhood friends making new additions to their families. Hopefully this rate of joyful blessings will decrease, because I really can't afford to drop that kind of change every few weeks. But it does call to mind a certain Bob Dylan song. Don't click that link, you know the one.

It wasn't so long ago that being able to buy a house was a hazy eventuality, and suddenly it's not such a nebulous idea, but a going concern. I catch myself drawn into involved conversations about furniture and kitchen appliances, and think, 'geez' the 16-year-old me would find me awfully boring.' I never aspired to become the type of person who cares about owning a good pairing knife, it just happened.

I'll admit some of my admiration for my old friends' new lives is marked by the basest consumerism: I scroll through their wedding registries and think to myself -- Well, I want a casual home laundry hamper, too! And throw in some gala balloon goblets and an avocado slicer while you're at it!

But then I remember that in order to make a list of all my worldly desires and send it to everyone I know, I have to make a lifelong commitment to another person. Ew. I can only commit the next eight months to James, max. And only if he acts right. I may send him to his grandma's if he can't give up that consternated whistling! If we're going to last more than six hours living together he'll have to learn that when finished eating and presented with the options to A. Leave your plate wherever you took the last bite (a coffee table, a stool, the middle of the floor) B. Stick it near the kitchen sink, unwashed or C. Clean it and put it away ... There's only one right answer. The others could prove fatal.

James: You're on notice.