Today marks the beginning of spring cleaning week here at the Crazy on My Face house. Every useless thing must go. All closets, drawers and hidey holes will be free from clutter and anyone who gets in the way of this obsessive-compulsive cleaning machine will be shot.
Maybe not shot, but definitely given a super mean, squinty-eyed, evil glare.
I’m cleaning out my life; literally and figuratively. Everything that does not have significant meaning or value is out the door never to return again. Problem is I have a habit of attaching value to even the most useless things (and sometimes people).
If I told you how many plastic Glad containers I have in my cabinets, you would point and stare in a superior way at the picture on my blog. Suffice it to say there are way too many, especially since not all of them have lids and as the result of spaghetti salvage, many of them are dull orange.
I haven’t thrown them out because in the event of alien invasion I figured they might in fact become currency. I wanted to be sure I could buy my way out of the anal probing the rest of you will be forced to endure.
Open my “junk drawer” and you’ll find approximately nine thousand ink pens. There are pens that have red ink, blue ink, and black ink. Most of them are the ever popular no ink, however. I hate to throw them out because those are the ones I take messages and pay bills with.
My bathroom has a cabinet that should be labeled “Place Where Sher Keeps Things Just In Case She Is Ever Homeless”. Shampoo bottles with one inch of shampoo in the bottom, tubes of toothpaste that I would actually have to cut open in order to extract some toothpaste and of course, countless tiny samples of toiletries that are handy to have when one lives under a bridge.
But by far my most embarrassing clutter has to be my angel collection. I’m mortified to even tell you such a thing exists in my house, much less has lived with me for more years than my son has been alive.
Roughly seventy-eight years ago, I once mentioned there was an angel picture I liked very much. It was a copy of one I’d loved as a child. Before I knew what was happening, angels pretty much flew right into my life. Angel pictures, angel figurines, angels holding pieces of ribbon for no reason whatsoever. Angels kept coming & kept coming because everybody knows Sher loves her some angels.
I couldn’t throw them out because that would be mean, plus the potential for eternal damnation freaked me out a little. Even though the Southern Baptist preachers of my childhood were quite thorough when it came to pointing out all the things that buy you a one way ticket to Eternal Boogie Man Land, I’ve worried throwing angels in the garbage might be such an obvious deal-breaking sin, they figured no one even needed to be told.
As a result of some big changes in my life recently, I’m feeling much braver than ever before, so I’m going to set them all free. The plastic containers, the pens, the angel who lost one of her wings in a freak dusting accident and spends every day holding a watering can that doesn’t actually water anything; they are all going to wind up either in the hands of a garage sale queen who has quarters and absolutely no taste, or a dumpster.
It’s closing time here in the House of Crazy. They gots to go somewhere, but they can’t stay here.
Have a little candy, Candy Man.
Copyright © 2004-2007, Sherri Bailey
This blog may not be reproduced in whole or in part without the express written permission of the author.
Tell me you love me at: HumorWriter@gmail.com
Tell me you hate me at: Yeah. I'm so sure I'm going to make that easy for you.