Every gal should have one. Or five.
Junk drawers are the easily accessible, readily available, one-stop-shops for all trinkets, memorabilia, knickknacks, hacky sacks (jk, but it rhymes), and mementos of life that gather as you go. They are the haven you run to when you think, "I can't think about this right now so I will just stuff it here."
Or, if you live in Washington, DC, when you think, "I live in shoebox so I don't have anywhere else to put this so it's going in the junk drawer."
Junk drawers are also the husband's worst nightmare. Apparently.
Michael would never use the word 'hate' to describe anything except maybe his own sin, but I swear, that's the word I would use to describe how he feels about my junk drawer. According to him, it's prime real-estate for the storage of practically anything at all, except for what I have in it, which he has deemed as mere trash.
Ouch. Love hurts.
And apparently obeys... because today, yes today, I opened my junk drawer and plunged into the abyss.
1 pack of cigs (haha just kidding)
3 packages of birthday candles
3 pairs of sunglasses (thanks Izzy!)
11 lip glosses (wow)
2 decks of cards
3 scotch tapes
2 address books
5 connector cords
And, a few other gems, including:
My UVA ID.
|Yes, I covered my ID #. I dunno! There are some wackos out there who could steal my UVA records and such. Since I was the best student ever. Naturally.|
These stellar bangles.
And lastly, this pic of my dad orchestrating our wedding rehearsal last year. Wooo!
|Two words: Starched. Pants.|
Here is the end result of my junk drawer purge:
|Why yes, that IS a dusting cloth. Machine washable, thank you very much.|
It's hard to tell since I had already begun emptying the drawer when I thought to take a picture of it at the beginning, but this is a major improvement. I wasn't home when Michael opened the drawer himself, but I imagine he beamed widely and danced a jig.
Or something like that.