The Pack-Rat Moves Lairs
I am a pack rat, a carefully produced hybridization of my mom, who acquires things, and my dad, who does not get rid of them ("I still have every one of my driver's licenses!"). Thus, when I was buying silverware a few years ago, I consulted with my mom about how much I would need. We settled on 20 place settings. Yes, 80 pieces may seem like a lot for a single woman living alone, but then, sometimes you have 10 people over for dinner, and you might want to serve coffee and ice cream without washing spoons in between. I keep 8 settings in the kitchen for everyday use, and the rest is in the dining room for entertaining.
This was the chain of past events that led, recently, to Sam eyeing me suspiciously and saying, as we were discussing the looming task of packing up my house, ". . . And I've seen all that silverware you have hidden in the dining room buffet." As if it were something to be ashamed of.
Other people's stuff never has the same sentimental profundity as one's own, so I probably shouldn't be surprised that he wants me to get rid of so much. Really, it's not too bad. I don't have too many clothes, and most of my books are in my office (at school, thankfully!). I've cleaned out my office at home and gotten rid of reams of old bank statements and the stationery I'll never use. And now that we've lived together for a few months and he has enjoyed regular meals, he won't fight me too much over cooking utensils. Plus, I've learned that if I refer to them as "tools," he understands perfectly why one might need just the right one.
But in play is still the TV I bought when I went to seminary. It works perfectly, but its modest, 19-inch non-flat screen and its lack of jacks for extra inputs make the ordinarily mild-mannered and liberally minded Dr. F. just crazy. He wants the TV to go, along with the VHS tapes on which I geekily and painstakingly recorded several seasons of 24 and The West Wing in the pre-DVR era. And all of my VHS movies. I said that I wanted to keep just a few of my favorites, and he asked, "But what will you watch them on?" The implication being that the VCR ("outdated technology") must also go.
Coming soon to a blog near you: Free to a good home . . . TV, VCR, and VHS library of girly romantic comedies and dramas.
This was the chain of past events that led, recently, to Sam eyeing me suspiciously and saying, as we were discussing the looming task of packing up my house, ". . . And I've seen all that silverware you have hidden in the dining room buffet." As if it were something to be ashamed of.
Other people's stuff never has the same sentimental profundity as one's own, so I probably shouldn't be surprised that he wants me to get rid of so much. Really, it's not too bad. I don't have too many clothes, and most of my books are in my office (at school, thankfully!). I've cleaned out my office at home and gotten rid of reams of old bank statements and the stationery I'll never use. And now that we've lived together for a few months and he has enjoyed regular meals, he won't fight me too much over cooking utensils. Plus, I've learned that if I refer to them as "tools," he understands perfectly why one might need just the right one.
But in play is still the TV I bought when I went to seminary. It works perfectly, but its modest, 19-inch non-flat screen and its lack of jacks for extra inputs make the ordinarily mild-mannered and liberally minded Dr. F. just crazy. He wants the TV to go, along with the VHS tapes on which I geekily and painstakingly recorded several seasons of 24 and The West Wing in the pre-DVR era. And all of my VHS movies. I said that I wanted to keep just a few of my favorites, and he asked, "But what will you watch them on?" The implication being that the VCR ("outdated technology") must also go.
Coming soon to a blog near you: Free to a good home . . . TV, VCR, and VHS library of girly romantic comedies and dramas.
posted by Tara | 3:37 PM
3 Comments:
"Now that he's experienced regular meals"? Oh my word. I'm picturing him, homeless, huddled under a bridge, roasting a rat or something! (previously)
I will say, the time I moved when I was pregnant (but admittedly, much further along than you right now), I felt a lot of guilt about all the personal junk I was asking everyone else to tote for me. That's possibly an undercurrent?
The verbal parry I wanted to pass along: "I won't need these old tapes if you buy me the shows on DVD!"
I'll buy them on DVD!!!!! Right now! Really.
YESSSSSSSSSS.
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