Something went very wrong in my life several years ago: I married a hoarder.
Our basement is a serious hazard. Experienced tracking dogs could get lost in there. Entire families have been known to disappear down the stairs without a trace, only to reappear days later with enough furnishings to equip a three-bedroom townhouse.
I think there should be a law that prevents hoarders from setting up house with purgers, and in fact, I would suggest the following revision to the standard wedding vows: “Do you promise to love, honour and refrain from filling the basement with 22 years worth of junk…”
Now lest you think I ruthlessly discard priceless family heirlooms, let me give you an abridged – VERY abridged - list of the contents of our basement:
A complete set of Road and Track magazines dating back to 1978, augmented by Car and Driver, Hot Rod, and Popular Mechanics;
The left mirror from a 1969 bronze Firebird (nothing else, just the mirror; the rest of the car died in 1977);
Sections of an electric slot car racing track dating back to 1960;
Nine defunct cameras;
Unknown fabric objects that might at one time have passed for clothing;
Assorted pieces of wood, wire and metal tubing;
Various and sundry car parts, fan belts, mats and cigarette lighters from Triumph Spitfires, Lotus Europas, Pontiac TransAms, all of which are no longer made, no longer running, and no longer owned, but the parts “might come in handy some day.”
I suggested a garage sale once. This went over with the kind of enthusiasm that might be associated with a mass accident on the Gardiner Expressway. Conversation went something like this:
Wife: “We need to have a garage sale.”
Husband (aghast): “What are you talking about? We don’t have anything to sell!”
Wife: “What about those ‘Welcome to the Slag Pits of Ontario' TV tables over there?”
Husband (clutching said items to chest): “You gotta be kidding! They don’t make ‘em like this anymore!”
As for the last twenty years, I only have myself to blame. Love is blind. Instead of gazing into his eyes, I should have looked in his room
Do you live with a hoarder? Please comment to tell us the treasures you have in your basement…
A really funny post, Melodie. I don't live with a hoarder, thank Heavens, but I know plenty. When I visit them, I must battle through mountains of their "stuff" just to sit down!
ReplyDeleteThanks, Jessie! Of course, I am the very opposite. I give things away to Goodwill, and then a week later wonder where they are. Which may actually say more about my memory...oh dear
ReplyDeleteThere's a simple way to cure a hoarder Mel, Move countries every five years.
ReplyDeleteI used to be a hoarder - then I moved 6 times in 18 months. I was cured - except for my comic collection, books, tea cups...
ReplyDeleteWhat I really want is a rocket in my basement. It would go well with my Star Trek collectibles.
BTW, love the blue.
I have to admit to being a bit of a hoarder. Funny tea pots, bookmarks, cards and letters...it's just the tip of the ice burg. Maybe we need to have hoarder interventions.
ReplyDeleteYou can't have the rocket, Ali. Maybe the sidewinder missile...
ReplyDeleteKevin, I get you. My family moved seven times when I was a kid, and I think this gave me nomadic tendencies.