Today I’m thrilled to be introducing a new blog column that I hope will become a regular feature ’round here. Written by none other than Ryan, my awesome boyfriend, it’s going to be a space for him to introduce new projects that we’re I’m working on, point out how absurd they seem to a man, and generally run his mouth. More importantly, he’s going to make fun of me, and share an alternate glimpse into life at The Borrowed Abode.
What the Hell!? Wrap what?
Greetings, Internet. And more specifically, readers of this weblog.
Do you ever feel that your house is missing that special something? You know what I’m talking about. A . . . wrapping station. You know. That corner of your house that you dedicate entirely to one menial task.
Could someone please explain what the hell the logic is in creating a wrapping station? I’m dying to know.
Perhaps I’m being too harsh. My last apartment had a wrapping station. Several, in fact. I had my office desk, my coffee table, my kitchen counter, my floor, the list just goes on and on. I’m pretty sure any flat surface BY THE NATURE OF BEING A FLAT SURFACE serves the purpose of being a “wrapping station”. The concept is pretty straightforward.
- Put wrapping paper down.
- Put gift on top of wrapping paper.
- Cut paper accordingly to the size of the gift.
- Wrap it.
(This is the instruction guide for the men. Ladies, I know I’ve omitted steps 5-37 involving hot glue, glitter, ribbons that you run along the edge of scissors for some reason, themed home made cards, perhaps a picture of you and recipient smiling whilst doing something you both cherish while acting goofy. I digress.)
I put this plea out there. Could someone please explain why the hell there is a need for a wrapping station?