Last week we had my mother-in-law come for a visit.
Her main purpose was to go through all the crap, oh excuse me, all the boxes, she has stored in our garage for almost four years. We figured that she would have at least half of the boxes ready for the donation or trash bins, seeing that it has been four years since any of that crap, oh excuse me, stuff, has even seen the light of day.
Well.
After six days of going through each box very preciously, the total number of boxes ready for donation or trash. Equaled. Two.
Yup, that's right. Two effing boxes. Out of maybe twenty total.
And where are the other eighteen boxes suppose to go now you may wonder? Yes, that's right, right back where they came from. In our garage. Not her apartment. Oh no. Her apartment isn't big enough to hold all that stuff.
Well, news flash lady.
Neither is our garage.
Thankfully I have a very understanding husband.
And he claims that once the dust settles and a few weeks go by, that he will go back through those boxes and somehow, mysteriously, most will disappear. Ah. That will be wonderful.
What won't be so wonderful?
In four more years when we try this again with her, and she can't find all her treasured items.
