Sunday, June 7, 2009
His and Hers
The house we lived in before we moved here had separate closets, and I was in heaven, if such a thing can exist in Shreveport, Louisiana. My closet was relatively tidy, believe it or not, but only because it was big and I didn't have all that much junk. I have a strict one-in, one-out policy. If I haul home a bag (or two, if I'm being honest, and I AM) from the thrift store, I pack up an equal amount to pack out. Since I don't always want to get rid of my own stuff, this sometimes necessitates raiding stuff from other household members. Shhhhh!
Lloyd's closet, on the other hand, had his valuable goods oozing out the door. The floor was piled three feet high, no lie: walkie-talkies, stuffed birds, stacks of khaki and olive colored button-up shirts still in the packages, and a huge cardboard box filled with boots. He could not possibly live without any of these things. Not even the shorts from high school. The teeny-tiny polyester ones in the school green with the white piping.
Unsurprisingly, he often could not find his coveted items when he needed them. If I had a nickel for every time I heard some variation of, 'Hey, have you seen my postcard from the Cabelas in Nebraska? It has a deer wearing a tie on it,' I could buy Pringles and 'Jon and Kate Plus 8' on dvd for the entire population of North Korea. That would solve THAT problem, now wouldn't it?
One day, I got a little fed up by the constant not-finding and generously offered to re-organize the closet. I went in with a headlamp, some emergency provisions and a box of trash bags. Five bags, one bottle and two batteries later, I emerged, triumphant. As I trotted to the car with the bags, he looked a little suspicious, so I reassured him with, 'Just moving some things around, Honey!' None the wiser, he admired the newly organized closet and asked my secret. Of course, I told him all it took was a little effort and gave him a lecture on keeping his things neat. If you are chortling at my foolishness now, you are a smart cookie.
Here in Korea, we are forced to share closets. And now that we have kids, the linen closets see a lot more action than any other place in the whole house. The other day was laundry day, one of about 23 we have each week. Lloyd was folding towels, washcloths and diaper wipes and putting them away in neat stacks, in direct violation of my much faster method of wadding them up and shoving them in willy-nilly. Some of those things had probably never been folded before; I hope it wasn't a shock.
I'm pretty sure Lloyd's way gives the closet a slightly more, I don't know, sophisticated look, but I put the pictures up so you can decide for yourself. Today the towels, tomorrow the silverware! Then the moldy boots! My ambition is bounded only by my finely honed manipulation skills.