My television set is dead. Unrepairable. While I was at Wal-Mart today buying a dust-pan, I wandered by the televisions to see how much money I would have to produce to be able to watch television in comfort and style again. (The small t.v. in the living room is so far from me that I cannot read the closed captioning on it . . . so sad, right? Especially when you think of orphans in Third World countries who have no shoes?)
But, really, the question is what happened to my dust-pan? Isn’t a dust-pan one of those items you acquire when you move into your first home and then you never buy another one? Well, you’d think. But my kids borrowed my kitchen broom and dust-pan to . . . sweep the back yard? And the dust-pan was never seen again. It ran away with the dish and spoon. (“And the dish ran away with the spoon.” Come on, I’m channeling nursery rhymes now.)
Now I own a dust-pan. And a random assortment of stuff that I didn’t realize how much I needed until I saw it–like spray starch for ironing, color safe bleach (which I use to get out stains, even old grease stains, I kid you not! I am Martha Stewart, almost), Oreo cookies (for school lunches), and, oh, who knows what else. I did not buy a television, though, because I could not find quite enough quarters under the couch. Or in the washing machine.
I’m going out of town for three days, leaving Friday morning. I am diligently working on laundry while reminding myself several times a day to remember to bring my underpants on the trip. On last year’s trip, I totally forgot. Now, tell me why I have space in my brain devoted to remembering that I forgot to pack underpants on that trip to Mt. Baker to scrapbook? Couldn’t that brain space be relegated to something more important? Like. . . oh, remembering to pack underpants?