I’m sitting here at my kitchen table, sipping a glass of wine, and realizing this is the first moment I’ve taken in quite some time to just relax.

Why am I at my kitchen table, when I have that beautiful new desk in my office?

Frankly, I’m too lazy to move my base camp — aka. the chaotic stacks of folders, reference books, rental listings, a wedding invitation, day planner, notebook, memory cards, and a packet called “Couponing in Camo: A Guide to Civilian and Military Couponing” from my here into my pristine new office work space.

I mean, look.

It’s clean. Untouched. Simple and uncluttered.  Aside from the glaring lack of accessories, it looks like it could be in a magazine.  A magazine that features beautiful, clean white desks on dirty old carpets.  I know that when I start to work in there, it won’t look like that ever, ever again.

What was that?

You’re wondering why I have a packet called “Couponing in Camo: A Guide to Civilian and Military Couponing” sitting on my kitchen table?

And you’re wondering if “couponing” is really a verb?  One that should be used not once, but twice inside a Domestiphobe’s home?

According to the rocket scientists at TLC and their “Extreme Couponing” show I hear so much about, it is a verb.  And apparently TLC viewers aren’t the only ones who know about it.

Well.  All I’m going to say to justify that packet’s existence on my own kitchen table is that the seminar was free.  And my shredder is in the office.  And my neighbor enticed me to go with the lure of free food of the hors d’oeuvres variety.

If there is one thing you should know about me, you should know my inherent weakness for finger foods.  Seriously, it’s like a curse.  It’s so bad, that I may or may not have snagged a meatball from the serving tray during the cocktail hour at the wedding I assisted photographing this weekend.  Fortunately, I believe the sole witness only speaks Spanish, so if word of the heinous act I may or may not have committed gets around, at least it will sound really, really beautiful.

Anyway.  I’m sure the packet is full of very useful information about this so-called “couponing,” most of which I would have heard had I not been busy stuffing my face full of homemade chicken wraps, guacamole, pasta salads, and some type of indescribable medley of sweetness, caramel, and grapes, of all things, that was so wholeheartedly unique and delicious, that I won’t stop harassing the military spouses in charge of the Family Readiness Group until they give up the secret.  It will be so bad that they’ll wish they’d never harassed me first.

Actually, the girl who taught the class was incredibly sweet, and anyone who stockpiles a year’s supply of food and toiletries for her family along with “overage” items she doesn’t even use, including about 30 cases of Maalox, 15 cases of KY Jelly, and other assorted donatable goodies by spending hours of her time compiling, organizing, and buying — yes, I said buying — coupons that end up saving her family literally hundreds of dollars a month, wins my respect.

And my confusion.

But mostly my respect.

This is not the girl who taught the seminar.  I believe this image was taken from the Extreme Couponing show.  America at its finest.  Represent.

Personally, I value my time, and I would rather spend those 8 hours a week (not including hours of shopping time) reading.  Writing.  Eating food I paid for in full.  Drinking wine.  Learning about photography.  Whispering sweet nothings to my pristine, white desk.

Basically doing anything but couponing.

It seems… excessive.

But that’s just me.  And maybe I’ll be sorry when the economy shuts down and I have to — you know — grow my food rather than survive on boxes of Hamburger Helper and Maalox.  I might be found huddled in a sad, dusty corner somewhere, begging for leftover cases of KY and licking my shiny fingers with greed.

I’m sure about a zillion extreme couponing bloggers and readers would agree.

How about you?