Really, Nothing is Going On

Carter texted me today. She misses home a little and wanted to know what was going on. Nothing. When she pushed me about what I was doing I told her the exciting news that I was making a quilt.  
“Really, that is all that is all that is happening?”
Yes. I didn’t think she would be interested in the quilt layout board I had made yesterday thanks to the instruction on my quilting friend Frances. Giving Carter the blow by blow of my trip to Home Depot to find “a very light weight board,” as Frances described it, to attach my quilt felt to was not something she wanted to hear. My excitement upon finding a foil covered insulation board that was four feet by eight feet was something I kept to myself. There was nothing eventful about my driving it home with it sticking out the back window of the land cruiser.
Certainly, my search for one of the four staple guns Russ swore we owned was not exciting news. I didn’t feel the need to tell her how, once I found an electric one, that had certainly been a gift to Russ from his father, that I had a hard time making it work. After stapling about half the quilt felt to the foam board I reverted to attaching the rest with giant safety pins. This was for sure nothing Carter wanted to learn about.
With my newly created quilt board I was able to layout the squares I had been fabricating to see how I wanted this thing to go together. Discussing the intricacies of placing a yellow edge square, next to a white one, and a grey one is not a conversation that a teenager probably wants to have with anyone.
The decision to add a light gray border between the squares still constitutes “nothing going on at home.” Thus the need to drive to the fabric store to purchase said material does not even warrant a mention.
I also ran the dishwasher, could I have told Carter about that? Why bother. I did tell her I had lunch with a friend, but it was not someone she knew.  
I guess I am going to have to get a much more exciting life if I am going to have anything to tell her that is going on at home. But why make her miss home, when, honest to god, it is not half as exciting as Berlin. Listening to what someone’s regular life is like is just boring, but you know that already since you just read this.