My husband and I have been fighting the same kitchen drawer for a year. It’s the one that holds the silverware, several measuring cups and spoons, and two pink naked lady bottle openers, neither of which work. In order to open the drawer I must grasp the handle firmly, squat back on my heels, and jerk as hard as possible while screaming obscenities at my creator. In some kind of cosmic nose-thumbing, the drawer closes without a hitch.
Last month, we decided we would fix the drawer by ordering all new cabinets. We knew it was overkill.
It reminded me of the time some friends said they were out of mustard, so they were going to Canyon Grill. Canyon Grill is where, for the cost of two entrées, you can keep yourself and several ballparks in a lifetime of mustard.
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I was excited about the new cabinets. I had fond memories of the cavernous kitchen drawers in our old house that held everything from tall double boilers to wide, flat saucepans. I remembered how they yawned open, without the slightest protest, to reveal their contents, and how, with just the slightest push, they quietly slid shut. In a world where so much is out of our control, their obedience was deeply reassuring.