Maybe we should live in a hotel

Brian got us an awesome apartment, sure, but the hotels here, even the average ones, are kitted out better than our place.
Like, you CANNOT get a hotel without a hob (stove), fridge, set of plates/ cups/ flatware for 4, cheese grater, can opener, french press. FRENCH PRESS?!?!

I mean, we have a kick ass apartment, right in the CBD (Central Business District), on the waterfront, across the street from the weekly farmers market, and the multiplex cinema, within 3 blocks of my work, Brian's work, all the major theaters, the national cultural museum, and a breadshop that smells like heaven. I'm not complaining.

Except "fully furnished" means I have to buy my own cutting board? And we have nothing to put our clothes in?

So, maybe we move into a hotel, like a couple of cantankerous bachelors in a Neil Simon play.

Or, I suck it up and buy a french press.

Or, I steal one from a hotel the next time we travel to Auckland for the weekend.