Fresh vegetables are annoying. First of all, it’s annoying that you assume they are fresh, just because of how shiny and perfect they look. Too perfect, if you ask me.

More annoying than anything is that you have to cut them up, only to realize the knife is dull and sharpening a dull knife is even duller than sharpening vegetables. So: veggies are washed and in the sink–you leave the sink and end up at your bureau top, because it’s easier to clear things–physically at least. And while you are putting things away, you open up a bureau drawer and find a pair of cutoff jeans. Size 27. You haven’t been a size 27 since college. Cutoffs? Pshaw! Oh, but well, you reconsider, I did have fun in these jeans, in college, even before they were cut from the thigh. I even had fun cutting them with scissors which, come to think of it, were dull–so dull, in fact, my knuckles bled. I examine the cutoffs closer…for the dried, twenty year old blood.

But there isn’t any, a la Brokeback Mountain.

But how did the cutoffs end up on the surface of the drawer? And then I remember: I was sorting this very bureau top earlier, yesterday in fact, during which I’d gotten rid of some old clothes. These cutoff jeans are by the far the oldest. But they’re still here, with new life. For the jeans at least. But me? I am infused with a very distinct lackadaisical quality where I am now compelled to sit on the couch and hunt for socks, which somehow end up under my sofa all the time.