It has been a long time since I rearranged furniture. The rooms in my 150+-year-old townhouse are tiny, and the heat comes out of grates on the floor, both factors that limit my creativity. When I was a kid, I rearranged my room all the time, so I mastered the fine art of disassembling things or removing drawers to make it possible to wake up to a new room. Ironically, I still have my childhood furniture. The damn stuff is solid as rocks, so I've never been able to part with it. Why should I? It's perfectly sturdy.
I could claim that I am tired from all the heavy lifting and dragging and pushing and rearranging. That would be a lie. For some reason that I cannot explain, I am too wimpy to twist off the cap. It digs into my palm and scrapes skin from the base of my thumb, but it simply will not budge.
Yes, I admit it: I resort to using a bottle opener to release a screw-on bottle cap. I want that beer; I need that beer; I earned that beer. With a flick of my wrist and the aid of a carefully crafted piece of metal, the beer bubbles are free and I am a happy lady.
If I can just figure out how to open the small bottles of tonic water without having to saw the plastic cap off with a steak knife, then I might be onto something.
