My wife is an organizer. It’s in her DNA. At least once a month, everything in our house must be violently uprooted from its happy home, and relocated to a new home and new neighbors.
Being that we live in a fairly small house with limited closet and storage space, many of the objects in our house must coexist with other objects that are of a different species, such as the silverware/matches/battery drawer or the crackers/bread/canned soup/mitten and hat cupboard.
This all works out fine until one day when you open what you thought was the silverware/matches/battery drawer only to find that it has now become the pen/pencil/can opener/socks without a match drawer. And the silverware, matches and batteries are not only moved to a new and mysterious location, but they have also been separated and given new roommates.
So now, the batteries live in the battery/Christmas decoration/antiquated VCR plastic tub in the basement, and the silverware shares a home with the numerous phone chargers that no longer fit any of the phones that we own, in the silverware/obsolete phone charger/air freshener drawer, located in the buffet in our dining room. The matches are now living in a decorative vase that sits on the windowsill in our kitchen. I have yet to unravel the mystery of what far away Gulag the crackers, bread, canned soup, mittens and hats have been sent.
Now I’ll admit that I’m not an organizer, so maybe I just don’t understand the logic that goes behind these new location assignments. But I just can’t see the reasoning in deciding to do something like condensing the three overloaded cupboards we have in the kitchen into two, and turning the third into a palatial palace for the iced tea maker and tea bags that we use once a year. An entire cupboard with nothing in it but an ice tea maker! It was as if she was somehow compelled to create a shrine dedicated to the worship of cold-brewed summer beverage makers. Meanwhile, the rest of our dishes and kitchen appliances are enduring inhumane overcrowded conditions in the other two cupboards.
It’s not just the complete loss of knowing where everything is relocated to, or my failure to see the logic in the organization that bothers me, either. The lack of any kind of warning that a re-organization has taken place can cause grief as well.
One particular morning, I was painfully unaware that the day before, my wife had determined that all my clothes needed to be switched from my side of the dresser to her side, and her clothes now lived on what used to be my side.
Since I wake up an hour before my wife needs to, I usually get dressed in the dark, so as not to wake her. It wasn’t until I actually got to work that I realized when I had reached into what I thought was MY drawer to grab a work shirt, I was actually grabbing and putting on a hot pink t-shirt of hers that said “SEXY LADY” in very sparkly letters across the chest . . . this is not something that the guys you work with will soon let you forget about. I can’t imagine the abuse I would have received if they had seen the pair of flower print panties that fate had determined I would be wearing that day.
If you enjoyed this ridiculous story, there are many more waiting for you in book form at Amazon: Single Family Asylum