Do Not Take Your Bra Off Before The Delivery Guy Gets There (And Other Phrases To Disprove My Point)

I very much love you, Invisible Internet Friends, because you know me. You get me. You do not try to change me.

When I say that I am afraid of my new apartment because it is cooler than I am, you don't say things like, "Kristy, that's crazy." You say things like, "Oh, yeah. I can see that."

(Okay, I'm paraphrasing. Sort of. But thanks for the encouragement, Sarah.)

Anyway, so I am currently in Ish's apartment waiting for the delivery guy. Because Ish and I have decided to change up our Indian take-out habits. Tonight we have decided to order Indian delivery. We are always living on the edge like that.

I took the initiative tonight, too. I found the delivery place and called and placed the order and got the cash all ready and have been fully prepared to have the food ready for when Ish gets home. Which is maybe thoughtful and sweet, except really it isn't because 9.5 times out of 10, Ish picks up the food. So I owe him.

Except I forgot.

I was just sitting here on the futon --

Yes. Futon. The man is going to be 40 this year, and he does not own a sofa. Only a futon.

Let me type that again. Futon.

Well okay fine. On the one hand, it's kind of understandable. He went through a separation, and since he was the one who moved out and across country, he was also the one who had to fend for himself in the furniture department. So he bought a bunch of things on the cheap.

On the other hand, this is why our new apartment is already not speaking to us.

-- doing what I normally do. Which is remember that I hate spending "downtime" in clothes that bind and thus remove them.

So, right. I took off my bra.

I have no idea if other people do this. (Do they? Do you?) Perhaps most women have a sense of "decorum" in their homes that's more like "all-underwear, all the time." Ha, ha. I do not live in one of those homes.

Anyway, so I was watching television and poking around online and started thinking about my last post and the comments and found myself getting defensive. Not because of the coolness/loft, uncoolness/me thing. (Lord, no. That's right on the money. Hi.)

But defensive because I do cook! Because I do love the kitchen and can't wait to use it! And I do not want my invisible friends to think that the kitchen will be wasted!

It's just -- well, since Ish and I started dating, I have made a concerted effort to actually cook more than twice a year. And also not set my kitchen on fire when so doing. And it turns out that I'm not (actually) even bad at making things! (Let us not discuss the chicken/red wine/ fig concoction that didn't so much work when increased from 4 servings to 12.) I'm just absolutely awful at making things regularly. I still do not know how to grocery shop for a whole week's worth of meals.

The point of this all is to say, well, I guess two things.

1. Hey! I sort of sometimes cook now!

and

2. I should really not get upset about people questioning my culinary skills when I am sitting on my boyfriend's futon(!), contemplating removing my pants(!) because I have forgotten(!!!) that I am waiting for Indian delivery. AND THEN PANICKING because I suddenly realize that at any second the phone is going to ring and I am going to have to run downstairs to meet the delivery guy and I'm not 100% sure where I've put my bra.