My hands. They are raw from ripping open boxes and using a screwdriver.
A bottle of Grey Goose. It's tragic, really. The cork popped out en route to my new apartment and the entire bottle leaked. But L brought over a new bottle as a gift. Sometimes, L is psychic.
My coffee press. It was sitting on the edge of the sink. And then it leapt to its death. And broke in a million pieces. This was not okay, because being highly caffeinated is not a choice but a necessity when you're staying up until 2am assembling furniture. Three nights in a row. Ow.
But the casualties are worth it. I look up from my coffee table -- champagne flutes and cupcakes split four ways -- and at the three people sitting around the table. And I wonder how I got here and why I'm so lucky. And I realize this is how it was always meant to be. I just didn't know it for a really long time.