It is finals week. We do potlucks for dinner every night because we like to party. The idea is that you can stop by to eat and laugh with friends, plus you don't have to make anything and you can get rid of the food in your fridge before the semester ends. There's no stress of cooking so you can have more time to study. In theory. That worked out pretty well last semester, but now we all know each other and are too comfortable together, so this is how it went down tonight instead:
5:00 - Text from Sarah, the Master. "Potluck party tonight is going to be a POTATO FEST! We'll mash em, bake em, put em in salads and whatnot! Bring any complimentary veggies and sides!" (There were gangloads of leftovers from the ward potato bar. Free food? We're takers.)
6:00 - Whip potatoes. Bake potatoes. Mash potatoes. Fry potatoes. Put potatoes in a cake. Refrain from making potato salad, potato donuts, and funeralizing even more potatoes. Heaven knows it would have been appropriate, as we all would have died. It was bad enough as it was.
7:00 - Serve potatoes. Talk potatoes. Inhale potatoes. Detest potatoes.
8:00 - Tell pant-wetting stories until our abdomens explode.
9:00 - Tell birthing stories and "I didn't know I
was pregnant" stories until our abdomens implode, explode again (scientists, please overlook improper use of terms), and all the boys decide it must be time to leave.
10:00 - What happens in the room of logic stays in the room of logic.
So obviously this was a good execution of our "use study time wisely" plan.