Behold my junk:
And also my feet. Made you look.
I know. It's hideous. Feel free to turn away. For I am ashamed of my junk. A massive tangle of USB, A/V and charger cords for electronics dating back to the Carter administration.
It's a mess. It's a disaster. It’s a landfill in a box. It's...
The Asshole Drawer of Shame.
And I feel bad about it.
Need a certain cord for your IPod? Your 8-track? Perhaps your Victrola? Go ahead. Dig in. Knock yourself out. More than likely, I have it, because I keep all cords.
Hey - I might need them someday.
Shame on my drawers. People think this is my allocated "Junk Drawer." No, friends, no. I have another entire Asshole Junk Drawer dedicated to other things. Paperclips. Rubber Bands. Penis Drinking Straws from my Bachelorette Party.
You know. All the important stuff.
I also have: An Asshole Closet of Shame, An Asshole Cupboard of Shame and even an entire Asshole ROOM of Shame.
I feel bad about them, too. In fact, like most females, I feel bad about lots of things.
Guilt: the original Woman’s Work. But that’s another post. Stay tuned…
Recently, I needed an “Aux In” cord to connect my Ipod to the truck‘s stereo. I know I have one of these cords. In fact, I know I have several of these cords. And I know where they lurk.
In the Asshole Drawer of Shame.
I had to dig into the ADOS. The hands went clammy, blood pressure rose, heart raced… I wasn’t sure I could handle it, but it had to be done.
I used my Lamaze breathing, my cardio stamina. I meditated and chanted to Jesus and - just to be safe - Allah. (Sorry, Jesus).
And I did it - I burrowed into the embarrassing mass. I untangled. I untwisted. I wrestled. Sweating, I untangled, untwisted and wrestled again.
Then, I chugged some whiskey.
Did I find the Asshole “Aux In” cord? No sir. I did not.
I found every-flippin‘-other-thing, though. Especially things I didn’t need or want. Especially things I wasn‘t seeking.
Especially Asshole Things I’ll Probably Never Use Again.
Like the cord for the camcorder, which we haven‘t turned on in five years. Like the box for my Ipod, the warranty long expired. Like a teething ring for the baby. The baby who starts third grade in a couple weeks. The baby who can do long division.
None of these things were the “Aux In” cord. No sir. Not one.
I could put all these Asshole Things on the Asshole Chair of Shame, also known as The Chair of Things to Donate to Goodwill. Otherwise known as the Asshole Chair That Fills Up Every Weekend.
I really hate to do that, though.
Because hey - I might need them someday.
