The Other Missouri Compromise
I told Ben I'd make a deal with him regarding packing--
I'll pack the upstairs if he'll pack the basement.
The basement was a big selling point when we were in search of a rental home, having lived in one that did not have a basement. It was just this massive space (the entirety of the main level in single-room format) just begging to be filled with Rubbermaid storage tubs full of our shit. Shit we will likely never use/wear/think about ever again. Shit we will occasionally dig through while looking for other shit we will use/wear/think about again. Shit we will leave strewn about said basement because we're pissed we can't find the other shit. Shit that will sit and become a welcome refuge for gigantic mondo spiders and their friends.
Well, that's how I see it, anyway.
I can barely go down to the basement to do laundry since spring arrived. There ain't no way in hay-ell that I'm going to be able to rifle through piles of storage tubs and sort through clothing and papers and other stuff, risking life and limb at the hands of some eight-legged freak scrambling up my arm from out of nowhere.
So the basement has become Ben's domain.
I'll just supervise from the safety of the stairs.
I'll pack the upstairs if he'll pack the basement.
The basement was a big selling point when we were in search of a rental home, having lived in one that did not have a basement. It was just this massive space (the entirety of the main level in single-room format) just begging to be filled with Rubbermaid storage tubs full of our shit. Shit we will likely never use/wear/think about ever again. Shit we will occasionally dig through while looking for other shit we will use/wear/think about again. Shit we will leave strewn about said basement because we're pissed we can't find the other shit. Shit that will sit and become a welcome refuge for gigantic mondo spiders and their friends.
Well, that's how I see it, anyway.
I can barely go down to the basement to do laundry since spring arrived. There ain't no way in hay-ell that I'm going to be able to rifle through piles of storage tubs and sort through clothing and papers and other stuff, risking life and limb at the hands of some eight-legged freak scrambling up my arm from out of nowhere.
So the basement has become Ben's domain.
I'll just supervise from the safety of the stairs.
posted by Mitzi Green at 11:52 AM
3 Comments:
Our last move, our attic was like your basement. Horrid. So what we did was get a dumpster and anything that hadn't been unpacked from the LAST move went straight in the dumpster. I figured if we hadn't looked for it in the last 5 years, it didn't mean that much to start with.
Of course, I tend to pitch stuff and Joey is a total packrat (which I can prove is genetic) so it was sooo much fun. I swear we almost divorced over it, LOL.
i second your pack-rat-edness is hereditary motion. i'm married to a second (possibly 3rd, i'm not sure) generation packrat. and i'm a "get this shit out of here"-er. proves for some very fun times, indeed. when we moved over here, there were several fights concerning The Orange Pillow--literally, a burnt-orange crushed velvet pillow from a sofa long gone. because it held special memories for ben about his childhood, i was forbidden from tossing the pillow. i eventually put a sham on it and stuck it on bob's bed. problem solved.
There are areas of my house that are hoarders paradise. Andy gets rid of NOTHING. It drives me friggin' crazy. If it aint't got a use - chuck it. Sometimes I have to sneak things in the rubbish when he's at work so he doesn't know I've binned things. Other times it's like the dawn duel as to who can hoard or throw something first.
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