I've always wanted a gourmet kitchen.
A super special, don't put your sticky fingerprints on my fridge, gadget filled kitchen.
Hell, what girl doesn't?
A 25 burner stove, triple ovens, countertops worth more than my car?
Gimme, gimme, gimme!
Nevermind that if I could afford my dream kitchen, I could probably afford to hire a private chef/housekeeper and then I'd never have a reason to step foot in my kitchen again.
But, you see, I'm not a filet mignon, champagne drinking girl. I'm more of a sloppy joes on my favorite TV tray with a Bud Light type of girl.
And really, my kitchen isn't all that bad.
So what if there are dishes in the sink more often than not.
It's not a showroom. We live here.
We make really yummy stuff here.
And I really can't complain about the company my kitchen keeps.
I don't think they're going to care if the appliances match.
Or if the floors are marble or linoleum.
Or if every meal is served on paper plates instead of fine china.
It's all just stuff. And stuff doesn't make the house a home.
The people do.
So maybe my kitchen isn't fancy or expensive or pretty to look at, but this is where we live and love and laugh. And that's about as special as they come.