My stuff is breeding when I'm not looking.
On the topic of Stuff, why does garbage and dirty laundry always smell the same, regardless of its contents?
I left the house and when I came back, my stereo had bred with an old box under my bed, producing a brand new array of audio cassettes and 8mm video tapes. Where and why does one stash this collection, having neither tape player nor VCR?
I've made three trips to Good Will (actually, one trip to Salvation Army, which Mon Frere berated me for since they support anti-gay activities) which included nine trash bags each of clothing, books and random dead bodies unearthed from the depths of my closet.
I lied about the old box being under my bed. I don't actually have an "under my bed" since I keep my box spring flush with the floor. But under the bed is one of those places people identify with -- a dark and sometimes scary place. You know what I mean.
No matter how much I get rid of, there's more and more. In my kitchen, up to my waist in Tupperware, I'm trying to sort out the good, the bad and the ugly. My parents have left me with enough place settings to host Tuft's graduation ceremony next weekend. And they lied to me about the silverware.
Mon Frere spent a great deal of time on Saturday debunking truths I had held self-evident for years, including the preciousness of the heirloom flatware in my family's possession. I became their sole benefactor when my parents moved to a little condo very far away, and as I was packing, I mentioned that although I didn't have room for 18 sets of dinner and salad forks, soup, tea, parfait, grapefruit and serving spoons, regular and steak knives, I need to carry on the Donovan Family History and preserve the integrity of the priceless silverware collection.
Mon Frere flipped over a spoon and held it to the light.
"Stainless steel. Made in Korea."
I was lied to.
I whittled the collection down to eight settings and angrily put the rest in a box for my yard sale. Eight is enough, right? I only know six people in my new town. If I invited all of them plus a homeless person over for dinner, I'd be putting my priceless China (ceramic, made in) to good use.
"Kristin. They'd have to be dwarves. Or you'd have to eat out on the sidewalk."
Three hundred square feet of studio apartment, eight place settings. So my collection of six friends and two dwarves will be eating grapefruit on the sidewalk. Maybe I'll just buy a package of paper plates.
Aside from my parents bequeathing unto me more kitchenware than any single female in her mid-twenties could ever entertain using, where did the rest of this Stuff come from? It doesn't even have a category. And it all smells the same.
RSS: subscribe to feed