Today I am grateful for junk drawers. Whenever I move to a different place the first piece of business is to assign a junk drawer.
When I searched for a good picture to use with this submission I found organized junk drawers. That’s just wrong. Un American! Organize your purse, your closet (like me), your dresser drawers, your utensils, your brain. . .but keep your mitts off the junk drawer. It’s supposed to be a tangled mess of. . .well. . .JUNK!
I heard my husband rattling around in the kitchen the other day yanking and digging and slamming. I’m smart enough not to expect a surprise dinner so I asked what he was doing. “I’m trying to get the blasted hammer out of the junk drawer!” Hah! Cooking would have been easier. “It’s tangled in a shoelace and the tape stuck to it and now that little basket that had rogue nails and lipstick and batteries that probably don’t work, and address labels and post-it pads and a nail file and the top to some bottle, tipped over and I’ll never get it back in. And why do we have clay in a plastic bag in there?” Junk drawers are not for sissies. They are training for the Tupperware drawer. He sputtered as he tried to jam the hammer back, smooshing it into a now broken glue stick. “We should organize this thing.”
WE should organize it? The collective WE? As in ME? “Knock yourself out,” I said. “Lemme know when you’re done and I’ll post a picture.”
I am grateful the junk drawer is the one thing in my house I don’t feel guilty about when it’s a mess. My husband would have probably had an easier time surprising me with dinner.