If I hadn't lost Sara's phone number, I wouldn't be posting.

Last night I had a moment. It was right before dinner was served. I remember it so clearly like it was yesterday, because, well, it was yesterday. I has just explained/warned for the third time in less than ten minutes that the first batch of cookies I made were under-cooked and were more like cookie dough than cookie. And it was the third time Taraz (other person serving here) asked me, "Well, why didn't you just put them back in?" Yes, that was a very good idea. One which I thought of myself as I watched them cool, but you have to understand that the last time I made cookies half of them came out burnt due to the fact that I thought they were under-cooked, so I put them back in. Oh, and to tell you the truth, I was in an irritated mood last night and I really didn't care if the first 12 out ba-jillion cookies were not perfect. But anyways...back to the moment I had. Now the first two times he asked that I responded with a very laid back, shrug of the shoulders, "I don't know." But not this time. Oh, no. This time I responded with a full on head down, hand pressed upon my forhead responce of: "I don't know Ta-raz. I just didn't care."

Right as the words and tone of voice left my mouth I said to myself, "Oh my gosh, I sound just like... Sara." And as Sara's irritated voice of, "I don't know An-ya" resounded in my head from all those times I was annoying her with my irrelevent (in her opinion) questions, my eyes got worried (big) and everything arround me started to slow down. I. Am. Sara's. Sister.

Have you ever spent two and a half hours wrapping/decorating/putting together a package?

Yeah, me niether. I mean who has that kind of time?
Oh wait that's right,

I do.