Puzzled

David purchased a puzzle a few days ago. The one shown in the photo, to be precise.

I'm sure you're thinking the puzzle is cute. The puzzle is fun. The puzzle should be hours and hours of boyfriend bonding on cool Spring evenings.

You know what? Fuck the puzzle. That's right, I dropped an f-bomb over a puzzle.

It's a panoramic monstrosity. It's wide. Quite wide. About three and a half feet wide. I haven't measured it, but I know it doesn't fit on either of the strategically placed ottomans in the living room. Our kitchen is too small to house a table large enough for puzzle building activities, so there goes the option of quiet morning coffee and cute kisses (Careful, don't spill java on the puzzle!) while popping in a piece or two before happily rushing out the door en route to work.

The puzzle can't be constructed on the dining room table because our dining set is non existent. I haven't invested in one yet. And don't dare look at me like that; I entertain, I just do it from the comfort of the living room and the catering company I keep on speed dial.

The only place this puzzle can be constructed is on my spare coffee table I keep in the spare bedroom, which has become my own personal closet space. Actual closet space being rather sparse, I use the flat surface for my folded garments such as jeans and designer t-shirts, etc.

Imagine: My table of folded garments resembles that of a sale table at the Gap, just prior to opening on the day everything on said table is marked down to seventy-five percent off.

Lots. Of. Clothes.

Now imagine the look on my face when I walked in to the spare bedroom today and spied the yet uncompleted puzzle sprawled out over three quarters of the table while my carefully folded clothing was crushed to one side, up against the wall.

Yeah, that look.

You know, Miso is low on kitty litter.

This entry was posted by Frankie, on 3.22.2007. You can leave your response.