What Could Be Worse?Posted: January 3, 2013
We got a postcard in the mail after Christmas. It’s from a charitable organization that comes through the neighborhood periodically and, if you have something to donate, you just put it out by the curb on the designated date, attach the neon green postcard and they pick it up for free. They were coming through on January 9th, so Bill and I decided to start the New Year by cleaning out our extremely limit – and crowded – closet space and donating clothes and shoes. Our motto is, if we haven’t worn it in two years, it goes.
Three big trash bags later, we decided that, while Mom napped, we’d try to put a dent in her 50-year-old wardrobe. I rationalized that, if Bill and I could fill up three bags even after culling out our things annually for the last four years, Mom could surely donate something that she hadn’t worn in 20 years.
And, three more trash bags later, we had quite a pile of clothing to donate. As Bill lugged the bags into the office ‘holding area,’ I grabbed the tall wastebasket from under my desk and returned to Mom’s room.
“Now what are you doing?” Bill asked, following me back into the bedroom.
“I’m dumping the crap out of the two bottom drawers of her dressing table,” I answered. “It’s just a bunch of junk she hasn’t touched in years. Like hair curlers and old jars of dried up Avon hand cream.”
“Okay, if you’re sure you want to go there. Just remember what happened the last time you decided to clean out her stuff.
“I know, I know,” I replied, remembering the half used bottles of Brut, Canoe and High Karate her ex-husband, John the Nazi, had left behind. Unbeknown to me, none of the lids were on tight and, in my frenzy to get rid of them, they spilled inside the cupboard under the bathroom sink. I can still smell the odor of disco in my sleep. “I’ll be careful,” I promised. “Besides, what could be worse?” I said naively.
So we started dumping. And, you know what could be worse? Finding your 87-year-old mother’s vibrator, that’s what!