Write about: the manual.
Aside from a fair bit of rest, today was spent doing baby preparation work - setting up the co-sleeper we got from one of Kat's friends, putting our first load of donated newborn clothes through the laundry to freshen them up, and figuring out what we still need to get (not much at this point, thankfully).
Tomorrow is our final box program day of the year. It's pretty funny just how much I'm looking forward to that.
"What's going on?"
Patrick had just walked into the room but he could already tell that something was wrong. Chris, his roommate for the past nine months, was slumped on the couch staring at a package that had been placed on the coffee table. It was obvious that he hadn't moved in quite some time.
"I don't know what to do... this just seems impossible."
"Maybe I can help?" Patrick was suddenly very worried about his friend.
"No, I can't see how you could." Chris, normally bursting with life and energy, sounded as though a hole had been punched through his neck and through it all his vitality had leaked out until there was none left.
"Come on, try me." Patrick came over and sat gently next to his roommate. "Between the two of us I'm sure we can figure this out... whatever this is."
"Sure, okay. Why not?" Chris struggled to a more upright position and sighed deeply. "Here's the thing: it says, quite clearly on the box, to read the manual before doing anything else."
"Right." Patrick waited a few moments before he realized no further information was forthcoming. "And?"
"Isn't it obvious?" Chris pointed at the package, disgust contorting his features. "The manual's inside the box. How in the world am I supposed to read it without opening the package first?"