It's a Sickness, Really

I seriously despise clutter. I know that there are those that love "stuff" and feel soothed by having everything they've ever owned within an arm's reach. I am not one of those people. When I cleaned out our garage last summer, the sum total of my 31 years fit neatly into one smallish sized Rubbermaid bin. (My husband on the other hand, required two large sized bins and that's only because that's all I would allow. We actually got into a fight over his old high school wrestling singlet. Like he was ever again going to squeeze into the damn thing and put someone in a full nelson, but I digress.)

Anyway, as evidence of my distaste for all things clutterous, I give you the barren landscape of my kitchen counters:

As you can see, there are only two things that live on my countertop. One (the knife block) is utilitarian, because I actually need to use knives now and again. The other (an antique wooden box with drawers) belonged to my mother-in-law, an avid collector of old stuff antiques. She passed away five years ago this past January, and it's nice to have a few things around the house to remember her by (although we shall never make mention of the old chamber pot that we also inherited, which looked lovely in her living room, but lives in a closet here at our house).

Anyway, back to my clutter diversion. When we put our house on the market last year, it took me exactly five minutes to "stage" our home for showings and said "staging" involved getting rid of some refrigerator magnets and putting away a couple old old family photos. I've been known to "accidentally" get rid of things around the house that people were "still using", like the time I threw out my husband's school report card collection. He was none to pleased, but did he really need to have a written record of the fact that he won the Good Citizenship award in second grade? He would surely disagree but I, on the otherhand, think not. I'm also one of those annoying people that's picking your glass up and putting it in the sink while you're still drinking out of it.

The one exception to my fervent desire to make our home a confirmed NO CLUTTER zone is this:

Just what is that, you ask? Well, I'll tell you. That is every spare electrical cord, adapter, charger, etcetera that has ever made it's way past my doorstep. The bin contains not one, not two, but THREE telephones (two cordless, one old school Conair phone), an old video camera and every other electrical cord and charger known to man. I really don't know why I can't get rid of them, but I just can't. Look, I know it's crazy. I know, okay - you don't have to laugh like that.

But, consider this, my friends. What if one day someone...let's say, Brad Pitt (this is will be after he kicks that skanky hobag Angelina to the curb, of course) comes knocking on my door and he is in desperate need of a charger for his circa 1996 Motorola flip phone? I'll totally be the one laughing then you guys, I just know it.

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