My dad shuffled into the laundry room while I was in the middle of a project. I was literally in the middle of a project, sitting on the floor surrounded by this. And then some. I don't usually like to use paper ware and such - something about being expensive and filling up landfills and the way my skin cringes when a fork scrapes a paper plate. Don't even mention a foam plate. Erk.
"Dad, did you realize that your wife had a love affair with disposable dinnerware?"
He chuckled, and asked where I had gotten all of the packages from. The corner cupboard in the kitchen. The shelves near her desk. The storage room, and under the cabinet in the laundry room.
He nodded. "But did you get the big box on the top shelf of the pantry?" Really???
About an hour later, we finally were somewhat more organized. The utensils were corralled, the napkins were sorted, the cups were stacked. I breathed a sigh of relief and hauled my stiff legs off the hard floor. I'm gettin' old. And then I remembered the big box on the top shelf of the pantry. Argh (it's talk like a pirate day, after all).
I'll get to that another day. For now, let the zombie apocalypse come - we're prepared! We'll throw paper plates at them. Argh.
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