I feel that Lonny might be reaching his breaking point with my purging project.
I’ve been spending time in the basement, AKA Lonny’s Man Cave. It’s low hanging fruit, if you will. There is so much stuff down there that it’s good for a quickie slam-dunk.
I figure I can sort through my stuff yet again or I can actually get rid of some stuff and make some actual space in my life.
I want to point out that Lonny doesn’t spend much time in the basement. He used to, especially when there was a bed down there if you catch my drift but the bed has long since been replaced with piles of crap. I’m going to resist the temptation to turn this into a metaphor for marriage.
So today I pulled out a bunch of books, mostly Japanese and German language books and dictionaries with the logic that 1) Lonny already knows German 2) He no longer does business with the Japanese, at least not like he used to in his heyday 3) The language learning books are outdated and linguistics is an ever changing field (I know this because my father and step-mom are linguists) so something from the 90’s probably isn’t as cutting edge as books utilizing current research, and 4) Why have a dictionary when you could download an awesome app that not only defines the word, it will pronounce it for you? Heck, there are apps out there that will actually read signs and translate them for you.
As I was weighing a couple dictionaries to mail to Melissa (Hi Melissa!) Lonny got kind of touchy and was like, “What’s your criteria for getting rid of stuff?” So I said, “Well, if you are talking about the dictionaries, it seemed unlikely that you actually wanted this stuff because they are buried at the back of the crawlspace and I’ve never seen you crack a language book ten years we’ve been together. I figured you didn’t need them.”
He responded, “Just because I don’t use or need something doesn’t mean I don’t want it. There are tons of books on my shelf that I never look at. We don’t use the figurines on top of the hood in the kitchen but does that mean I should get rid of them?”
I could tell he was extra touchy about it so I decided to let him say his peace. I’ll save my rebuttal for my public blog which everyone agrees is the best way to negotiate stormy marital waters.
I’m gonna have my say, though.
Of course I respect your emotional attachments. Obviously I honor your beloved collections, that’s why there is anything in the basement at all. It’s why I haven’t touched your vintage Playboy collection (but I did leaf through the Supermodel Issue, holy shit! how did they get Naomi, Tyra, Stephanie, Elle and Claudia to all sign up?), pulp fiction, incorporation documents for a long-defunct corporation, Japanese fan-zines, multiple Golden Book Guides, endless jars of fasteners and screws that I know you have tons of in the garage but would be angry at me for getting rid of and THAT MANNEQUIN THAT CREEPS ME OUT, to name just a few.
I leave all that stuff because I love you and I am actually thinking about what you might not miss. I try to take only the stuff that I sincerely think you do not cherish/will not miss/have multiple copies of. Really.
What I would love more than anything is to go down there and weed out the stuff you don’t want and then organize the stuff that you do so it doesn’t get ruined when the basement inevitably floods.
I would like to use the creepy, dark basement to store the stuff that we don’t want to see (but still want to keep) instead of having them clutter up our living space that we do see.
If I can make some sense of the basement, maybe I can take back that really nice room on the second floor. You know, the one with the beautiful view of the sunrise and that gorgeous slanting eastern light that you love so much.
We could move our bedroom into it and put a whole hallway between us and our light-sleeping boys and get a little privacy for the first time in eight years. Are you catching my drift?
So what do you say that me and My Sexy Assistant (AKA M.S.A. or Ms. A) put on some cute work outfits and do a number on the place, you can have the final say, and we both get what we want. Okay?
Signed, Your Loving Wife