I decided to make French Toast this morning out of a rock hard baguette but couldn't find the tiny bit of maple syrup left from the yearly bottle my sister brings from Vermont. When Alex finally emerged blinking into the morning light I told him I was looking for it. He was so appreciative about the breakfast and immediately went on the hunt for the syrup. On a chair to look on top of the fridge, cabinet, spice rack, strictly adhering to the rule of two people in a kitchen -- wherever one is, that's where the other wants to be. It was just irking me so much, plus he has this irritating thing where he always stays to the left rather than right when meeting someone face to face which he claims to have gotten from Tai Chi. So I dart right, he darts left, stalemates all over the place. (How, in 7 years of living together, have we not negotiated a better system for this? Finally today I agreed to try to start darting left.) Wally was throwing Goji berries around, the French Toast was burning, coffee grinds spilling, and at the moment I was going to say Please stop looking, he found that bottle with the nice orange leaf -- so pleased with himself. (Always an easy spot when you can't find it -- in the fridge, top shelf.) My response when he handed it to me, "You had to find it." (As in, you couldn't have just used honey or jam or something else.)
"Well that was the point of looking for it, wasn't it?'