Most people have key baskets to contain the bite-size bits of crap that fill up their lives–keys, gum, bits of string, Carnival doubloons. Really civilized folks have leather valets that sit austerely on their dressers. And even everyday slobs know to dump it all in the junk drawer when company’s a-coming.
But I’m not most people, or really civilized folk, or even an everyday slob. No, I’m what every fifth grade teacher craves: an enthusiastic constructor of elaborate dioramas. Unfortunately, mine have less to to with Moby Dick than pure laziness. And instead of old Hush Puppies boxes, my masterpieces live on the kitchen counter for all the world to see. Here’s a guided tour of this morning’s contents:
1. The Lafcadio postcard mentioned elsewhere. If only I scrapbooked, I’d file it away. In a scrapbook, I guess. (Note: I hope that’s the only time in my life I use “scrapbook” as a verb.)
2. Gayest birthday card ever. From October. Also ripe for the hypothetical scrapbook.
3. My all-time favorite coffee cup. It’s 100% genuine plastic, so it can go in the microwave. And it does. Repeatedly. All day. Jonno hates it.
4. Poor Gaynell. Also from October. Certain people in the house have an unnatural attachment to Gaynell, or her ass woulda been in the garbage months ago. To her credit, however, girlfriend can move a docket.
5. Candle to St. Somethingorother, possibly Ramon. Is there a St. Ramon? Maybe. But who cares? It’s more useful as a source of light when the grid goes down than as a means of invoking aid from mythological beings.
6. Immodium. To combat the hot, sexy stomach virus/food poisoning currently wreaking havoc on my innards.
7. My attempt at a key basket. Except it’s not a basket, and it’s way too small. For no apparent reason, it’s become the only designated repository for sunglasses, postage stamps, jump drives, and half-used tubes of Chapstick.
8. Carnival-themed assemblage including one Cover Girl compact (which belongs in my makeup tackle box), one set of vintage fleur de lis cufflinks (never worn), one can of wood filler (mahogany tint), one glass container (filled with the fortunes from every fortune cookie ever opened on the premises), and one opal ring in a gift box (given by my krewe as a token of their appreciation–for not walking in the ball, I think).
9. A small pile of porn. Always with the small piles of porn.
10. The one pair of sunglasses that escaped the key basket, as they belong to a former student who left them here on Mardi Gras morning. Which say a little about the former student and a lot about me.
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