Tonight, in a fit of I'll-kill-you-if-you-open-your-mouth-again-type rage, Lou and I escaped to a shopping complex in American Fork hoping to find dishes worthy to be placed in the cupboard of our soon-to-be apartment. After a thorough yet fruitless search of Ross, we wound up at Bed Bath & Beyond, where my hapless heart set its pretty little hopes on these:
Paisley soup bowls! How perfect are they? Not too patterned, not too plain, big enough that they could potentially aide me in drowning my sorrows in ice cream or Cinnamon Toast Crunch, and off beat enough for them to speak to me. Maybe I loved them so much because I wasn't expecting to find them. Maybe the cosmos aligned and led me straight to the dinnerware of my dreams."Alack, that heaven should practice stratagem upon so soft a subject as myself!"
Wouldn' you know it, these bowls, since they cost any money at all, are way out of my price range.
...
Poop.
And I had the whole kitchen designed around them!
Harrumph.
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