Some say my husband and I have a sick sense of humor. It's OK, though, because we're think we're just hysterically funny. However, occasionally, trouble can arise when we don't get the other's so-called sense of humor.
I have been working on some serious organizing. Boxing up stuff and moving to the attic, but before I do, making-a-list-of-what's-in-the-box-and-saving-it-on-the-computer-organizing.
Serious. Stuff.
I have a hard time knowing what to do with "stuff." Not items I use or set out, but just "stuff."
So, I got inspired by an idea I read and I am now putting it in action. I am numbering plastic storage totes, then listing its contents in Word, then putting the totes in the attic.
What's in the totes?
Stuff.
Stuff that I can't throw away.
Some of the dresses my mom saved from when I was a baby. Love letters exchanged by my parents when my parents were "courting" when Daddy was in the service. Beautiful vases that I don't really have an occasion to use often (less than once a year), but can't bear to part with. Stuff that is sentimentally valuable, but doesn't see the light of day often. Stuff that I can go years without seeing, but I would miss it if it were gone.
You know. Stuff.
One thing I'm wanting to store is my mother's china. I love it and it's beautiful, but I don't know what to do with it, so I'm putting it in the attic.
Here's what the story gets a little fuzzy.
I gave hubby the box with the China and said, "OK. This box has my mom's China. PLEASE be especially careful with this box. It's sentimental
and breakable."
Hubby picks up the box (we're in the basement) and takes it upstairs to the main floor. All of the sudden I hear boom! boom! boom! Obviously, my precious box has fallen down the stairs.
So, I do what I typically do in a panic situation.
I cried.
Quietly, mind you. It was an accident. I'm not hysterical or anything, but the tears are falling down my face.
A couple seconds later, hubby sticks his head in the room I'm in and suddenly his face changes and he loudly says, "I'm so sorry!"
I understand accidents happen, but the words won't come.
He says, "No, you don't get it. I was just kidding. I threw one of my work boots down the stairs. That's what you heard. The dishes are fine. Really."
Me, "What?"
Him, "I was just trying to be funny. I thought you'd get mad, then you'd see that it was just a boot and then we'd laugh." [insert nervous laughter here]
Me, "You thought it would be
funny to pretend like my
dead mother's China had been broken to bits?"
(Pause.)
Him, "Well, not when you put it like
that."
And that's when we both started laughing.
We jokingly say when one of us does something silly (that might irritate the other one), "It's a good thing God picked us out for each other. No one else would have us!"
