Sorry, the cute title is packed in a box over there.

Want to know what I've been doing? (OK; no, you don't. I can tell because you haven't clicked over here all day.)

Well, that's OK, because today I was too busy to blog. I was packing up the contents of our kitchen into boxes, bags, sacks to take to the thrift shop, and straight to the garbage can outside, because who remembers buying that box of Swan's Down cake flour? Not I.

(Hey, internet! Did you know that if you go over to Yahoo! Image Search and search for "cake flour" you get a whole lot of pictures of wedding cakes? I didn't either.)

So, anyway, this whole construction-workers-coming-to-the-house-to-rip-it-apart thing is taking everyone by surprise. Especially me. I've had home renovations done before, but not as a resident of the property in question.

Thus it is that not until I was well stricken in years, i.e., now, did I discover that getting ready to have your kitchen ripped apart has all the pain and none of the pleasure of actually moving out. You have to take everything out of the cupboards. You have to pack it--carefully, because a lot of it is breakable. You have to label the boxes, and find somewhere to put them.

Oh, wait. There is one pleasure. You don't have to clean anything. No matter how dusty and nasty. Because next week, someone is going to crowbar those cupboards right off the walls and chuck them into a Dumpster.

And my goodness, what a wild, reckless feeling that realization has given me! Tonight I sliced a tomato right on the countertop without using a cutting board.

Yes, it's Saturday night. Time to party!

Maybe I'll go in there and spill some red wine on something.