The Tale of the Kitchen Island

Gather ‘round, children, and I shall tell you a tale. A saga of commerce and wondrous engineering. An epic poem of elemental destruction and kitchen storage.

This, my friends, is the tale of our new kitchen island.

Surely you are aware that two fortnights ago, when the first dew of summer had yet to dry, my betrothed and I made settlement in a new dwelling place. This place had charm and space for a king or two. However, there was one area in which the new domicile was inferior to the old: the kitchen. Specifically, where one would store food before preparation was lacking in space. Alas.

To remedy this oversight, we wracked our brains for a solution. Should we summon a skilled tradesman to construct a cabinet made of the finest materials? Should we try to work with what we have? Or should we just use a Lowe’s gift card and order something online?

My friends, the third option was ours. We decided on a new kitchen island, one made for a moveable feast, which could store all our foodstuffs and bakeware. I transcribed my credit card numbers and waited patiently for the day the kitchen island arrived.

The happy day came and my beloved was already deep into the construction of the island. But ho, what’s this? A crack in the hitherto unspoiled granite of the countertop. It was sundered in two.

This simply would not do. How might we butcher the choicest game on such a surface? How would we carve up the earth’s cornucopia on a shattered counter?

With haste, I got an audience with a manufacturer and levied my complaints. They told me I would have to return the marred island to the craftsman who constructed it before I could get an unspoiled piece of granite. I did so and waited for a response.

What followed was a flurry of communications as I tried to get the crucial answers. A communiqué assured me I would receive a replacement soon. Several days went by and I despaired of receiving it. Lo and behold, I returned home from my daily travails yesterday and found the might piece of granite, without a crack, waiting outside our domicile.

My betrothed gathered his tools and put the finishing touches on the mighty kitchen island, surrounded by floor tiles like a moat. It was gorgeous. At last, our castle finds some order. At last, we have a place to store our barley and wheat and even some ale.

And thus our tale is concluded.