In the
Eyes
of the Beholder

I got the overwhelming urge to do some cleaning the other day. Heavy-duty, no holds barred, dust-bunny-be-warned cleaning. Under the bed and in the corners cleaning. And I didn't start because I'm "nesting" or any of the other oh-so-cute euphemisms that other non-pregnant people assign to very pregnant, hormonally insane, due-any-day-now women. It just seemed like as good a time as any to do it.

I started with my husband's closet. Why? Probably because it's easier to throw away his stuff than it is to throw away my own.

The first thing I ran across were two pairs of old tennis shoes. As I recall, he insisted that they weren't comfortable enough to wear anymore, but once we replaced them with new ones he couldn't seem to part with the old ones.

Why is it that men save old shoes? Especially tennis shoes. By the time they have been worn enough to qualify as the "old" shoes, they are generally past any earthly usefulness - and they stink besides.

I asked my husband this. I know for a fact he has two new pairs to replace these because not only was I present when he purchased them, but they, too, are sitting in the closet. But I really want to hear what his reason is. I could really use a laugh.

He defends the old shoes, saying that he'll use them for painting.

Painting. Painting what? I ask. I know he's not going to paint a house.

We don't own a house. He says he's going to paint walls.

When?

One day, he hedges.

Nope. Not good enough. I point out to him that it will be quite a while before such a day comes. By then he'll no doubt have accumulated another pair of old shoes suitable for the job. I threaten these two pairs with the garbage bag.

He's starting to sweat. I can almost see his mind spinning and then click when he comes up with another answer. He says he needs them for doing yard work. I hesitate.

This is at least a logical and relevant answer. We have a yard. He does work in it.

I'm reasonable. I point out that he has two pairs. He doesn't need them both.

I can see him thinking. He's searching for a logical reason, a way to save them both.

I'm not trying to torture him. Really. I just have a thing about throwing away unneeded junk. I guess I'm not as sentimental as he is. I don't have a lucky sweatshirt. I won't have my currently trendy clothes twenty years from now when they come back into style. I'm practical. And I really, really like to throw things away. It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

And besides, men's shoes are so large. They take up so much space in a closet. Men may complain about the number of shoes that women have, but at least they're small. I can keep twenty-five pairs in the space my husband has five.

The last time we moved I threw away two pairs of his old shoes - without asking him. I don't think he even noticed. I'm beginning to think that I shouldn't have asked this time either.

Time's up. He has to choose. We compromise and one pair goes.

We both feel like winners. But judging from the slightly pained expression on his face as he hears the garbage bag rustle with the addition of his beloved shoes, I probably feel better than he does.

I'm done with his shoes and he breathes a sigh of relief. Too soon however.

I move on to his clothes. Why is he keeping this shirt? There's a hole in the arm and it's so thin I can see through it.

He says he's going to paint in it.

I give up. I don't have the strength to argue anymore. I think I'll tackle the dust bunnies. At least they can't talk back.

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