The Junk Drawer


It’s a privilege you get as an adult, he said matter-of-factly. JD and I were making dinner after my debacle with suggesting we drink veggie smoothies for dinner (yes, veggie). We bet who could drink it the fastest and we gagged our way through the greenish drink. JD won. Then insisted we make dinner. It’s a priviledge you get as an adult, he said matter-of-factly. I embarrassingly stared stared into a kitchen cabinet. It’s the kind of cabinet one might use for, oh, say, cups. But what do I use it for? JUNK.

I’m a rather neat person. I prefer organization and cleanliness…and yes, I’ve cleaned bathroom tile with an old toothbrush to get just the right sparkle. But my junk drawer? Well, that’s off limits.

I owned a junk drawer when I was a kid and things never changed. It was the one space in my life where nothing mattered and I gave myself permission to let go. Pens, paper, medicine I’m too lazy to take to my medicine cabinet upstairs, a rubber band, my wedding cake toppers, a expired coupon book. It’s all there.

Explaining my embarrassment to JD about the junk drawer is like explaining peace to a hippie; he just gets it. He tells me it’s a privilege and insists everyone has a junk drawer. I know this tactic…he uses “everyone” as a way to avoid the chance I’ll repent and CLEAN THAT DRAWER AT RIGHT NOW WHO CARES ABOUT DINNER!!

So to “everyone” who’s just like me, I feel you.

{Oh, and wait…what is that? CDs?! Matches?! Chapstick?! Whew, that was close…at least y’all know I’m perpetually prepared for a romantic night in. Bow chicka bow wow.}