Six and a half years of barbecues, lovely dinner parties, off the cuff drinks that turned into sleepovers, raging costume parties with crazy that spilled into the pond and on the street, shoulders to cry on over appetizers, healthy meal Sundays…. At the end of it all, this is what the kitchen boils down to—a professional mover brought nearly to tears by my serving dishes and stemware and a tower of boxes that fills my heart with trepidation……in my new house, will I find friends that love me enough to keep the couch warm? Will there be women who adore me to a level where they make 15 layer Jell-O shot cakes for me? Will our new neighbors think they are too old for beer pong and darts? And the real question to the universe….why did the movers label two cases of medical grade syringes that are OBVIOUSLY intended for jello and layered shots as if they belonged in the garage. Doesn’t everyone keep around 500 syringes for shots?! This world, it baffles me. My kitchen friends, I miss you already.