Out with the Old

Call me cold. Call me heartless. But most of all, call me clutter free.

I really, really love throwing things out. The house sighs ahhhh as I carry out bags full of old clothes, toys, garage junk, whatever. There's a stretching and expanding of the walls and the house oozes a feeling of contentment, just like when Daisy the cockapoo stretches and makes little rumbly purring noises when she gets up after a long nap.

Often, I have to discard items when none of my family members are around. They just don't seem to get the same level of joy out of it as I do. I can tell by the way they come running at me yelling NOOOO whenever they see me with armloads of their clothes. Geez, what's the big deal? Can't they see that my work is for good, not for evil?

So, I do as much as I can without them around, but sometimes I do need their input. When that happens, I try to explain as calmly as possible as we're playing tug-of-war over, say, an old T-shirt, that it only hurts for a minute, and then they won't even remember they used to own it.

"But you didn't even remember you had this!" I'll yell while tugging.

"But I remember now!" will yell one of my assorted children or husband.

"But you haven't worn it in three years!" Tug, tug, tug. "And it doesn't even fit!"

"But it might fit if I lose weight! Or ungrow two inches in height!"

They are clearly irrational. That's why all the pressure is on me to keep us from being buried alive in old shoes, clothes, school papers, trophies, rusty tools, near empty shampoo and lotion bottles, frayed stuffed animals, theater programs, party favors, and shopping bags filled with nothing but tissue paper. And more.

Wait, did I say trophies? As in prizes for valued achievements? Yes. Yes, I did. They take up room and get dusty. Do you think I'm heartless? Well, think what you will. I have an uncluttered conscience -- and house, which I'm pretty sure I can hear making a noise right now. And that's ahhhh.