|And one of these days, you'll be glad I saved that expired concert announcement from 2007, so can it."|
On achingly poignant and romantic evenings, Husband can be found gazing deep into my eyes, twirling a lock of my hair around his finger, and whispering into my ear, "If you ever die, I'm pretty sure you'll become a hoarder. Don't do that."
I've countered this statement, many a time. The house isn't cluttered. I don't have a penchant for cats or making more grilled cheese sandwiches than we have cabinet space in the bathroom. I'd come to believe he makes this statement in a desperate attempt to make sure I go first and he's left with the house and all of the kids. Any man's dream. Totally understandable.
....But, after looking in my email box this morning, I'm starting to think Husband may be right.
I'm a virtual pack rat.
I could tell you why, but the only way to sort through the madness is to let you listen to the conversation I have with my computer every morning:
"Good Morning, computer. Please pull up my main contact email." (firstname.lastname@example.org, if you guys ever want to send me recipes I'll never use or secrets to take to the grave).
"Pulling up main contact email. You have received no messages of import or fan mail."
I nod. "Figured as much. Now, please bring up my other email inbox."
"The one for bills and miscellaneous items or the one for only half the things you've ever registered for?"
"Bring up bills and miscellaneous."
"Very good, mam."
"It says here you'd have one hundred bills, sixty newsletters, ninety-eight coupon codes, and a special offer on pants that would look horrendous on you from New York and Company."
"I see. Put everything into folders and save the one from New York and Company. I haven't had a good cry today, and I'd like to get that in before lunch."
"As you wish, mam. Would you like to look at anything else?"
"Can I help with remembering the password?"
"Not unless you know who my first best friend's cat's cousin's father-in-law's mother's maiden name."
"I don't, mam."
It's ok, computer."
"Mam, were there any bills you'd like to pay before you log out?"
"Are you sure?"
"Yes. Now, close this session and close out your sass."
"Very good, mam."
Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm off to Google the life expectancy of a man who says his wife might turn into a hoarder.
Until Next Time, Readers!