Have I mentioned our house is about the size of a postage stamp?
This is actually one thing I don’t typically complain about. I don’t mind. In fact, I really prefer it that way. There are only two toilets to scrub. . .well, and now a potty seat, which needs meticulous care since when Mac isn’t sitting on it, he’s pretending it’s a dog dish. So gross. I actually resorted to rinsing it with bleach. (We seldom ever use bleach). And yes, Betsy, I am now feeling extraordinarily sheepish about refusing to expose Mac to potentially fecal matter laden sand on vacation.
Anyway, I really do try to keep our “stuff” in check. I try to keep only what we need and not purchase a lot of extras. But things can still get disorganized in a hurry. And when things are disorganized, I’m less happy. So I’m working on attacking some of our problem areas again.
Saturday night and Sunday morning I worked on the kitchen cabinets. They are infinitely improved. Not only are they organized, I also shifted things around for better functionality.
For example, I found myself bristling every time I needed to get some coffee or a tea bag because they were in a lower cabinet and anytime you open a lower cabinet, Mac comes barreling towards it, wedging himself in the door before you can slam it closed. The extraction process often results in a mini-meltdown for everyone involved. So um lightbulb, I moved that shit to an upper cabinet. Now I can have a second cup without all the drama.
But even with ruthless editing, there are still some things that just don’t quite have a perfectly functional place. Including these:
Yes. These three small tumblers have been vexing me for years. They came with a set of drinking glasses we purchased shortly after we bought the house. There were plenty more originally but our previous porcelain coated cast iron sink claimed a few over the years. And now we are down to three.
And I wish I still had that sink.
I feel badly about wishing them harm, since they’ve never done anything particularly malicious. I just can’t seem to find a proper place to store three short little glasses.
Recycle them or take them to Goodwill you might be thinking.
I can’t. These are my Husband’s favorite glasses. I don’t know why, but he’s not a fan of the tall lean statuesque glasses. He likes the short and squat ones. (Which is apparently how he likes his women too given my height and weight. . .).
Now, for a time, I had been stacking the short fellows on top of the taller glasses in a cabinet. It was a little tedious but manageable. Unfortunately, when I shifted stuff around, somehow the arrangement no longer worked as well.
I tried. Oh how I tried. But nearly no sooner had I done my cup stacking, until Husband reached for a beloved shorty, and promptly sent it careening to the kitchen floor.
“Yeah. These aren’t lining up right. Don’t we have somewhere else you can put them?” he asks in a mildly annoyed tone.
“We’ll just take them out of there,” I chirp like it’s no problem at all. Then I swooped in and grabbed the glasses and placed them on the open shelving on the other side of the kitchen.
But I don’t like them there. They make me nervous. They hover over the table. I’m just certain one is going to jump off that shelf and break something in close proximity.
I’ve been stewing for the past 24 hours.
How do I balance my much maligned Husband’s simple request for a short glass in a convenient spot with my obsessive need to have things “look nice”?
A dilemma surely as old as cave-dwelling co-habitation.
My solution? Capitulation.
I can’t debate a water-glass. And I really do care about my Husband’s happiness. So I’m just going to stack the shorties in front of the blender and hope he finds their new home acceptable.
Although, there might be some reckless dishwasher unloading going on in these parts in the near future. . .because I just can’t help myself.