The last few days have been a flurry of cleaning, folding, and cramming. I've moved nine times in the last two years, so I've got it down to a science by now. I was temporarily thrown off my game this afternoon by the discovery of Figure One: my new dining room centerpiece. I like it because it says "I'm all about class, but I'm also appreciate the miracle of nature."What you see here is an actual sack of potatoes I discovered in the hidden compartment under my sink. And the really gross thing is (as if you needed one) that I wouldn't have had the first clue of this renegade potatosack's existence until its jack-and-the-beanstalk tentacles had blasted straight up through my countertop.
An interesting footnote to this situation is that I have no idea where the original potatoes even came from. I haven't bought a bag of them since at least 2004, and I can't remember Scott buying any when he was in town. They can't be a year old; wouldn't they be walking and talking by now if that were the case? So, if you are responsible for hiding a bag of (potentially magic) potatoes in the very back of the cabinet under my sink, please come forward. I just want to talk to you.
