Moving...sheer hell. If you do it right, you will have a couple months to pack,so its not some overwhelming job where you have to be outta there by noon on Thursday. You will be able to afford to hire movers, and you will wish you were able to afford packers, also. You will throw out a ton of shit and donate to Goodwill many times before moving day. After moving, you start unpacking. This is where you start realizing what a total asshole you are. Ugly American! Let me give you a few examples of myself and see what you think...
Who the hell do I think I am? I have 8 espresso cups. Eight fucking espresso cups, including two peppermint candy cane striped ones I thought too cute to pass up. Two from an ex boyfriend who turned out to be a miserable piece of shit, yet I keep them out of nostalgia. My partner and I drink espresso shots from time to time, but 8 fucking espresso cups? I mean really...not one god damn time have we had an espresso drinking party at our house, not once.
Barware, jesus, you'd think we were alcoholics too lazy to do dishes! 3 dozen wine glasses, maybe more, I got tired of unpacking them and sorting them. And those Riedel glasses, what pieces of worthless shit! Talk about bad feng shui! I have never once held a Riedel glass with anything but dread, fearing the delicate wafer thin glass would break in my fingers. We have a ton of 'em, and rarely use them. Bill once heard they were top notch, the "in" kind of glass for connoisseurs. He bought it, along with tons of the glasses. Pinot Noir glasses, what ostentatious shit! The very fucking notion that you should drink different wines out of anything other than a paper cup is pretentious, but these big honking stupid looking Pinot Noir glasses take the cake. Someone somewhere, whoever invented them, is laughing their asses off that some dumb sucker dropped a mint on those "specially designed" glasses! I don't even like Pinot Noir.
Moving on the actual booze in our house, I find it charmingly absurd that Bill loves Bushmill Whiskey so much he packed a bottle containing a single shot left it.
I guess its not so charming I actually packed two dozen leather belts. I haven't worn a belt in years and at my age and lifestyle, not a single one of them would make it halfway. What the hell am I thinking? I am going to lose 40 lbs. and be able to enjoy the skinny leather whips that went out of style in the 70s? I tell myself it was an accident, I really wanted the hanger I looped them on.
I go back to the kitchen to unpack the 20th box marked "Kitchen" and find metal bowls I haven't used in 10 years. Quite an assortment of sizes, the littlest one I have no idea what it was used for , or could be used for...was it ever used? To whip up some cocktail sauce maybe? It might fit a squeeze of ketchup and a spoon of horseradish. Did I buy the set because of it?, because I took a fancy to the tiny metal bowl? I guess if I ever get a hamster, I could use it as a watering dish.
Stocking the pantry, I find a plethora of instant sauce mixes, hollandaise, bordelaise , I don't even know what some of this shit is...it all expired before my daughter graduated high school, but I guess I figure if its hermetically sealed in a little pouch it will last til the return of Christ, and He may want eggs benedict, I won't let Him down.
I am deeply ashamed of the stuff I've accumulated. At my age, the ultimate freedom would be to have a cozy little cottage, to live free of possessions, with 2 coffee cups (maybe 3 in case we break one), just enough food that we could eat in a week, and just enough clothes to fill one closet. Instead, I find myself perversely moving into a bigger house with more room to store my shit, most of which I won't ever use or probably even look it, may even forget I have. I am vowing now to pack a full bag of crap once a week and throw it out. The 4 compartment plastic dish I picked up 20 years ago and used once or twice. The 12 pack of disposable aluminum trays I bought thinking I would send leftovers home in. Leftovers for who? I have people over probably half a dozen times a year and usually blow so much money cooking for them that I'll be damned if I let any leftovers leave the house. Maybe I will end up with a big ol' house with nothing in it. Just a little ol' man and woman with 2 plates, 2 forks, 2 spoons, 4 towels and washcloths, half a dozen seasonal outfits. And 8 espresso cups.
