It all started with a cheese wrapper. One of those string cheese wrappers that you peel off like a banana.
I found one sitting neatly on my organ, my grandmother’s old Hammond M3. It needs repair, so we don’t play it. There is little reason to be hanging out near the currently inoperable organ, and no reason to discard food wrappers onto it.
Unless you are my husband.
Of course, reason is still not a factor in this, but the man litters my house with care. When he is finished with something, be it a cheese wrapper, his shoes, socks, or belt, he will find an inconvenient place to put it. The most frustrating part, however, is that these things are not scattered about. They are often folded, wrapped, or tucked into the most non sequitur of places.
I have been perplexed by this for years. I took a picture of the cheese wrapper in October of 2012, and since then, I have snapped shots of other deliberately misplaced items.
For instance, his favorite place to put his shoes is under the coffee table. He must take them off while he is on the couch, but instead of just leaving them right there, he will then PUSH THEM under the coffee table, so that they are “out of the way.” His socks sometimes end up there, too, or they get folded up as if to go back into the drawer, and end up on, say, my father’s childhood rocking horse.
But the most interesting item, by far, is his belt. The shoes get reliably tucked under the coffee table, but the belt. Oh, the belt. What strange and interesting opportunities await for inappropriately storing a belt! Every time I find this belt, EVERY TIME, it has been wound up into a perfect coil and then placed…on the Boos block, by the coffee pot, or tucked between the couch arm and cushion.
It’s almost like found art. If I didn’t have to clean it up, or make him clean it up, I’d be impressed by how the belt artfully challenges just where a belt belongs.
I’ve kidded my husband for years that I was going to start a Twitter account called “Places My Husband Leaves Shit,” made up of all these pictures. In order not to embarrass him, I intended to keep it anonymous, though I’ve blown that now. Oops. #SorryNotSorry.
The funny thing is, the main reason I didn’t ever start the Twitter account is because I was perplexed, overwhelmed, and a little afraid of Twitter. First, why all the status updates you already get on Facebook? Second, why is everybody talking on top of everyone else? I didn’t get it. I opened a Twitter, tweeted twice, and then closed it. I knew that if I ever got on Twitter, I was going to need purpose, and I didn’t feel like I had any.
Well, about two weeks ago, I joined Twitter again. The Adirondack Review posted that they do most of their social networking on Twitter and to check them out there. And I was like, huh? Ok.
Cue the literary world opening up in front of me like a Pandora’s box of Oscar Wilde quotes and submission deadlines.
Whoa. I get it. Where the hell have I been? The stream of relevant information coming at me about contests and deadlines and straight up opportunity is thrilling. It has reignited motivation for writing and submitting, because suddenly, I feel like I have an inkling of a notion about what is going on and how to access it. It’s actually a little less scary, now, thanks to Twitter.
So, I have found my purpose in the Twitter world: to navigate the waters of the literary world. Facebook is a great place for writers to interact, support each other, and network, but Twitter provides information. That’s my take on it anyway.
So, for now, I won’t be starting a Twitter account exposing my husband’s clutter skills. However, if anyone wants more information on “Places My Husband Leaves Shit,” don’t worry. Just come on over and stick your head under the coffee table.