I really, really, really, want to eat a Chipotle burrito right now. RIGHT NOW! Although I might be persuaded to trade the burrito for a bread bowl of broccoli cheddar soup from Panera. But here I sit in my living room, writing about what I want but not eating it. Does this automatically classify me as "unhappy?" Or "fat?" Or both?

On an entirely different and unrelated note...

When Betsy and I first got married we bought this really cool computer desk. It's really wide and has a hutch and everything. We've had it for seven years and it has moved from house to house, room to room, and finally, today, I removed the hutch and put it in Jack's room, were it will probably remain until the day it dies.

In Macy's room is a bookshelf my mother bought when my brother, who is 37 this August, was a very small child.

Our first kitchen table is now my maternal grandmother's property.

My desk is an antique that we got from Betsy's dad.

Betsy's dad has a parlor table that we got when my paternal grandmother died.

Our second kitchen table is in our bedroom. It is my "puzzle table."

In our garage are some cabinets that my friend's dad pulled from on old bank he was demolishing.

My point is this: We do a good job of getting the most out of the crap that comes our way and Betsy has stated that we have all the crap we need.