Each morning, for the last 30 years that we have lived in our house, I wake up to see...the outrageously messy top of Larry's dresser. Each day, it seems, the many piles get closer to the ceiling. Believe me, I have tried everything to keep that sucker cleaned up (the dresser, not Larry). I have tried a three-size basket system; I have tried the full arm sweep junk to the floor technique; I have tried guilt-provoking crying; I have tried the very difficult to listen to nagging technique. Nothing works. I have questioned myself as to why nothing works, and I have come up with a combination of: Larry is an incurable clutterer and I am a wuss.
Now, as those of you who know Larry know, he is an exceptionally fine person and he is an exceptionally clean person when it comes to his own personal hygiene. He is also non-sexist in his willingness to do chores around the house (he has been doing the laundry without complaint for the past 15 years) and he is happy to do any household chore without complaining that I don't do more. He also loves to cook, and is great at fixing the morasses in which I often find myself when I do the cooking.
All that having been said, I still have to look at that dresser every morning, and I still have to withstand berating when I try to throw something out. It is beyond my comprehension why a person who was born in 1946 hoards things as if he had lived during the depression. Every pair of shoes, every pair of pants, every shirt from the 1970s still hangs in a closet which is too small to accomodate even the wardrobe that he actually wears. He gets a new pair of winter boots, but does he throw out the old ones? Of course not, he will wear them when he does work in the garden. He gets two new blazers that he looks fantastic in. Does he throw out the ones that he hasn't worn for ten years? Of course not, they may come back into style someday, and he may lose the 30 pounds that would make them fit again. He has 35 plaid flannel shirts that he wears to work but cannot resist a sale and buys 35 more without throwing out the old ones. And, by the way, I HATE plaid flannel shirts.
Our Florida apartment is a different story. It is beautifully clutter free. From the beginning, I have insisted on a clutter free environment in the Florida apartment and I have made it happen. I have been strict; I have been strong. I am not a wuss in Florida. I am the woman I was always meant to be. Of course, no mail gets delivered to Florida, so that helps. And we don't do bills there, so that helps. But even so, there is not a piece of clutter to be found. No one would dare.
Now, as those of you who know Larry know, he is an exceptionally fine person and he is an exceptionally clean person when it comes to his own personal hygiene. He is also non-sexist in his willingness to do chores around the house (he has been doing the laundry without complaint for the past 15 years) and he is happy to do any household chore without complaining that I don't do more. He also loves to cook, and is great at fixing the morasses in which I often find myself when I do the cooking.
All that having been said, I still have to look at that dresser every morning, and I still have to withstand berating when I try to throw something out. It is beyond my comprehension why a person who was born in 1946 hoards things as if he had lived during the depression. Every pair of shoes, every pair of pants, every shirt from the 1970s still hangs in a closet which is too small to accomodate even the wardrobe that he actually wears. He gets a new pair of winter boots, but does he throw out the old ones? Of course not, he will wear them when he does work in the garden. He gets two new blazers that he looks fantastic in. Does he throw out the ones that he hasn't worn for ten years? Of course not, they may come back into style someday, and he may lose the 30 pounds that would make them fit again. He has 35 plaid flannel shirts that he wears to work but cannot resist a sale and buys 35 more without throwing out the old ones. And, by the way, I HATE plaid flannel shirts.
Our Florida apartment is a different story. It is beautifully clutter free. From the beginning, I have insisted on a clutter free environment in the Florida apartment and I have made it happen. I have been strict; I have been strong. I am not a wuss in Florida. I am the woman I was always meant to be. Of course, no mail gets delivered to Florida, so that helps. And we don't do bills there, so that helps. But even so, there is not a piece of clutter to be found. No one would dare.
posted by boomer blogster at 12:47 PM
1 Comments:
too funny! I am so glad you are posting again. Larry must be related to Mom. She still has plaid button down shirts from the 70s in her closet. Luckily she has her own closet!
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