Moving and Memories

So as I'm packing to move YET AGAIN (I had sworn up and down that I wasn't moving again in Boston for at least several years, and yet, here I am moving after only one year in my fabulously cute little apartment, thus failing to break my record of one year and three months as the longest I've lived in one place as an adult). I keep finding things that are rarely used, but still have so many memories attached (which, in some cases, is why I can't get rid of things, in spite of the fact that they have sat unused, unpacked, unnoticed for two years). One such item was my creme brulee torch, which made me laugh immediately, remembering my drunken meltdown over my attempt to use it for the first time. Because of course, it's best to caramelize the sugar right before it's served. Well, at our dinner parties, that means after several bottles of wine. (No judgement, there were about six of us there). And THAT is when I'm trying to figure out how to use this thing for the first time. It just wasn't working. It would light, then go out. And I was becoming unreasonably upset over this. And I was about the just chuck the thing in the trash, but one of my wonderful roommates gently reminded me that I would probably regret that when I was sober. And then it took another friend to discover the problem: I had no clue how to fill the damn thing, so it was essentially trying to run on fumes. No wonder I couldn't keep it lit. Well, by that time, most of the creme brulee had already been consumed sans sugar. And I haven't gotten around to using it since. So it gets moved from apartment to apartment, waiting for that day when I will make another valiant (and hopefully successful) attempt at creme brulee. And mocking me with my drunken meltdown every time I see it. When am I going to learn that making dessert whilst intoxicated is NEVER a good idea? (Anyone else remember the drunken cake? No? Good...)