Mind the Can

I think we all have our little household quirks.

Like at my parents' house growing up, we kept (and they still keep) the trash can right in the center of the kitchen. Like right in the middle. Not discreetly placed under the sink or tucked up against a wall out of the way. No, their trash can forms a little island in the center of the tiny space, a barrier that all kitchen traffic must delicately maneuver (counterclockwise, that is--it's an unwritten rule). It's been tipped, its contents dribbling and scattering out everywhere, many a time by someone in a rush to get to the stove or the sink. You'd think we'd move it. The placement is so damn convenient and yet inconvenient at the same time. But it has to be that way. Every single time the house cleaner comes, she moves in up against the wall, hoping that by some chance of fate, we'll realize that it's less bothersome, not to mention less of an eye-sore in this location, and just leave it be, but it quickly finds its way back to the center of the room. And yet if I walk in and it's temporarily missing, like accompanying my dad on a 2 minute walk to the garage to empty into the larger trash bins, the kitchen feels strangely empty and off balance to me. I guess it's earned its prime placement, and the accompanying high status, in the kitchen after all these years, and it just wouldn't seem right without it there.

In our kitchen in Maryland, Pug insists on displaying this kitchen knife of his on the top ledge of our stove. He's really, really proud of it, (called a sambuko knife or something? All I know is that he spent way too much money on it), and so he displays it in its glorious rubber sheath for all to admire. All usually being just me. And you know what, I'm not impressed. In fact, I think it's weird. I think the knife should get the hell back in the drawer where it belongs. It must scare people who walk in to see this knife teetering on top of our stove, like it's ready for quick defense should an intruder or nosy neighbor come upon us. I've tried to move the knife to other less visible locations, but like the trash can at my parents' house, it always seems to find its way back. Sigh. For better or for worse, right? Some things you just gotta learn to live with. . .

I also need to add that said knife, like every other gadget that Pug insisted we buy, gets almost no use at all. Because. We. Don't. Cook. And yet, there it is, strategically placed for easy access, should the sudden urge to prepare a meal for his tired wife who gets home much later than him each evening, come over my husband. :)