![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBSan4-y07xujwxU0LjLs_l0HhUmVJ7ZBQC_d7JMp5by1bRYwIMG7x9lzSRTxK5sSg1CSSB4fHdSAliSSFdIs2U9VtNxZLsbgro-5m-ZxSygSm1_fcQypyBDXaBB6OBH98_owBGyif1_Bk/s200/End+of+March+039.jpg)
. .
.Mortar & Pestle. I want a mortar and pestle. Not sure what I would do with it, but I know my life would be
so different if I had a
mortar and pestle. Laughter would roll off my tongue as I worked my magic in the
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXWSUibs0Ra-6ob_zvKtZCmrnCM_HOQpDjHLuqjTWMiBSPvGYiyco9MNoALCrMFGbo3tVCi1l5GMW-map1_KTc8agjg9l0X0JQ-Kpavae6UPmpnHDHLkQuZB5M1jbS0USC_q10yR54yFOV/s200/M&P.jpg)
pestle. My wardrobe would change – who can mortar and pestle in blue jeans or cargo pants?? I would have
important people calling me for advice. I would use words like “unctuous,” “smitten” and “olfactory.” I would live in a greystone and have secret codes and files that say “for your eyes only.” I would awaken in the night with a notepad on my nightstand, scribbling important formulas or recipes. I would have a soiree instead of a "turkey tracks gamenight". I would wear bangles. . .
That’s the ticket. I need a mortar and pestle. That’s my goal for ’08.
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