KITCHENS SEE ALL
During last week’s holiday hullabaloo, my kitchen saw a great deal more action than usual. I’m sure that was true of most kitchens in the US; they’re probably as hungover and peopled out as we are. I can just hear refrigerators across the country moaning about how much food they consumed last week and ovens in every state sagging slightly in exhaustion and soreness from their Turkey Trot. “Why did we drink so much?!” exclaim the kitchen sinks. Really, we all owe our kitchens a great debt of Thanksgiving gratitude. But in addition to the extra action it saw, my kitchen also bore witness to me breaking the rules.
What rules, you ask? The rules of life, my friends. Or at least the rules of Western society and the culture in which I reside.
WATER IN THE KITCHEN
There was one particular moment that started this trend of breaking the rules. I cooked in shifts on Thursday, starting with the roast, then the turkey, then the veggies, then the sides, all with breaks in between. Between the veggies and the sides (stuffing and mashed potatoes, if you were wondering – I went with a surprisingly traditional menu this year) I went upstairs to change into “company clothes,” AKA not my old grandpa sweatpants. I even put on clean socks and one of my nicer gym tank tops. Then I returned to the kitchen to start the potatoes.
At this point, you need to know that one of my pet peeves is an almost entirely unavoidable phenomenon: wet spots in the kitchen. There’s little that can happen around the house that annoys me like going to set something down in the kitchen only to realize that Lake Winnepesakie has relocated to the countertop next to the sink. And water on the floor? It makes me crazier than usual, and that’s saying something. One of my previous roommates and I developed the habit of announcing, “The floor’s wet!” anytime we spilled something or lost a rogue ice cube. I recommend this practice for all homes.
(I just learned that there was once such a thing as a “sink protector,” as mentioned in this article. Shockingly, the product no longer exists, as it was a terrible idea. However, I do appreciate that someone out there was trying to solve my problem.)
Returning to my story, you can probably guess what’s coming next. I walked into the kitchen and immediately stepped upon a small puddle of water. My clean, dry socks were now cold and wet. The fury inside me unleashed and I internally cursed the existence of water. Why do we even have liquids, anyway?!
BREAKING THE SOCK RULE
As I took a few deep breaths (and took off my wet socks) I realized that part of my frustration was that I had just wasted today’s clean socks, and now I would have cold feet until those socks dried. That’s the rule. Unless you do some sort of sweaty activity, you get one clean pair of socks for the day. This prevents doing extra laundry and wearing holes in your sad little socks. You blew your chance with that clean pair? Well, you should have thought about that before you stepped in kitchen water, you fool!
Then I paused. Why is that the rule? Why can’t I get a second clean pair of socks? What’s wrong with breaking the rules?
Absolutely nothing, I realized.
There is nothing wrong with breaking the rules.
I wiped the kitchen floor to avoid a repeat experience and went upstairs and got a second clean pair of socks. My feet were warm and cozy. It was scandalous.
ARE THERE ANY RULES?
Last week I saw a story on the World Wide Web whose bottom line was, “There are no rules.” It talked about just doing what you can. Don’t have the energy to rinse your dishes? Run your dishwasher twice! Who says you can’t? Can’t make yourself get dressed for the day? Okay, don’t! There are no rules!
And I agree in principle, but in practice, I find it easier to tell myself that I’m allowed to break the rules. My brain is a slightly sketchy land in which boundaries and borders are easily wiped out by distraction, so telling myself “there are no rules” might accidentally see me getting arrested for driving with an open container of alcohol, simply because I forgot that there are, actually, rules. But breaking the rules when I need to? That makes me feel like a rebel without a cause, an empowered woman on a mission to live my life the way I want to, without society holding the controller.
Breaking the rules allows us to eliminate frustration, to take life as it comes, and to wear as many damn socks as we want. Maybe your rules are not sleeping during the daytime or always making your bed in the morning. Whatever it is, think about letting yourself break the rules once in a while. You might find a moment of joy in the freedom that a little rebellious act provides. And if you do? I want to hear about it!
What are your rules, and how could you break them to improve your life?
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