Sometimes I lose my mind and think that a book on cleaning, clearing, and minimalism will change my world, inside and out. Declutter, throw away, recycle. It all sounds so good. And I am good at it. I do end up collecting again, but for a few moments it’s like an empty dishwasher in a family of seven.
Then the husband walks in as I’m cleaning out the CORDS box. The zebra print shoebox that has been living in my closet for 3 and 1/2 years, overflowing onto the floor and a mishmash of tangled whatevers.
There are a dozen cords I can’t identify, that haven’t moved since I last did. I make a nice neat pile of these to throw. There’s an antenna to something. I make the mistake of asking him what it is. He grabs it from me with excitement in his eyes.
“It’s an antenna!” he proclaims as if he had just dug up T-rex bones in the yard. Yeah, I know it’s a damn antenna. I want to know to what.
“I think I can use this,” he says as he walk over to the modem on the top of the television and attempts to attach it, even though the modem already has its own antenna and is a different color. The antenna in his hand is shiny aluminum and green. The modem is black. “It doesn’t go to this,” he concludes.
Ah, but this isn’t the end of the disruption of my cleaning agenda. He walks over and grabs a mac cord and says “I could take this and splice it to something . . .”
I can just imagine what would be spliced to this, as an unnecessary fire hazard that he thinks is the coolest thing EVER.
Then he turns back to the pile of cords, with desire in his eyes. This is just a box of old cords. Imagine what happened next when I asked him about the 70’s flowered ironing board in the basement that he picked up beside the road 3 years ago and hasn’t used since.