I went down to the garage yesterday to try a little more decluttering and rubbish disposal while Mr S was out.
I know I said I’d put up some photos so you can see before and after but I can’t. I just can’t. It’s not only cluttered; it’s plain filthy.
Mr S has already put stuff back into the place I decluttered. But I ignored that.
I looked to another bit. Mr S won’t throw away anything he has ever owned. He has two old bags he used for work. He is using a new backpack but he tossed the old ones in a pile of shit, well for you know. Just in case. Just in case when the current one dies, he has a spare. But he’ll just buy a new one and put the current one on top. It’s really that he can’t be bothered AND he can’t let anything go.
I went through the two bags. Found over $120 in coins. And about $50 in NZ notes. (I know he’ll claim it is secret money for emergencies but who has time to wade through piles of shit in an emergency?)
Then I sorted through the pile of alcohol. Much of it in gift bags that were rotting away – it’s damp down there. Mr S gets lots of gifts. People like him. All that is nice. They buy him alcohol, knowing he likes a drink. But like all of us, he has his own taste and a lot of what he receives, he doesn’t drink. Bottles of port, whiskey, arrack, rum, Guinness, sparkling wine (how did that one not make it to me, you ask. Cause Mr S just piles his gifts in those reusable shopping bags and empty beer cartons), wine, more whiskey, bourbon. He won’t let me regift it, but shhh, I gave two bottles to The Dreamer to give as a gift to a friend of his. You know, I’d rather people didn’t give Mr S gifts. Maybe I should get the message out that he likes sparkling wine. Then I could drink it and we’d have no clutter and save money. (Hint hint, Top Chook!)
OK, it is not all his. I found half a dozen bottles of wine I bought before I stopped drinking white wine. God knows if they are still drinkable. Won’t be me that tries.
Piles of empty, torn beer cartons and gift bags went into the recycling. And a heap of rubbish went into the bin. The alcohol I salvaged has come upstairs. I will dole it out to the offspring or regift or remind Mr S to drink rather than buying more.
Honestly if it doesn’t get drunk, and our house caught on fire, the arson squad would be called ’cause the firies would think we’d poured on accelerant.