My husband and I have gotten into the habit of cooking three dishes together each Saturday/Sunday when we visit each other. Dividing up the food between the two of us, it tends to be enough for lunches and dinners throughout the week.
This Sunday, we did the same, merrily working in the kitchen cooking and baking quiches and frittatas while glancingly viewing "The Bucket List". Finishing up, I began cleaning the dishes, but after a minute turned around to see my suddenly silent husband. Hovering over some pyrex dishes, dividing the food, he was sobbing. Immediately moving over to console him, he said through the sobs, "I think tupperware is the saddest thing in the world."
Now, tupperware really isn't the saddest thing in the world. But what is sad is what it represents: each week needing to divide up our stuff, load up the car, separate ourselves for another week. The first week of it was difficult, but tolerable. The first month of it was depressing, but tolerable. But now it's past the first year of the periodic separations, and it's becoming intolerable. God, let me swiftly graduate so that we don't have to keep doing this much longer!