Relatively speaking, I’m a pretty clutter free creature—especially after watching an episode or two of Buried Alive or Hoarders. In fact, after such viewing, it may be argued that I have the opposite problem in the form of a selective case of home OCD.
Case in point: my refrigerator.
Clean at all times with three exceptions: a shopping list, invitations that have yet to be written in my day planner at which point they will promptly be tossed in the trash and a framed magnetic photo of my sweet deceased puppy dog Ralph…OH! It’s also critical that all three permissible items are neatly arranged on the side of the fridge not the front. Very important.
Of course I feel sorry for my future children that their macaroni artwork won’t be showcased on the steely doors of my Frigidaire, but I find comfort knowing that surely such neglect will only build character. Besides, if they take after their mother, they’ll find a deep satisfaction in hoarding magazines. Stacks and stacks of magazines.
It recently dawned on me that a serious publication hoarding situation is brewing in my neck of the woods…
You may now be anticipating a come-to-Jesus moment where I admit my hoarding sins and vow to rid my house of every pre-2011 issue…but that’s just silly. We all need a hoarding vice. This is mine, and I know you have one too.
So spill your guts. What are you stashing away in that casa of yours?