As some of you know, the Bossy family live in a shoebox diorama. Most of the time Bossy enjoys living in a house so small you can’t remove your sneakers without rearranging the furniture, but occasionally the lack of space gets to Bossy.
That occasionally arrived last night when Bossy was attempting to put away a few groceries and couldn’t fit the new stuff in her kitchen cupboards. “Whose soup is this?” Bossy said, poking at cans from the Nixon administration. “Does anyone actually take these vitamins?” Bossy said, shuffling around pill bottles from the Cold War.
But it didn’t get serious until Bossy uttered the coup de grace of all clutter references, the sinister triple-dog-insult, which involves comparing the Bossy family to the Collyer Brothers.
Unfortunately Bossy’s son was caught in the crossfire of this Unmarital conflict. Bossy was so saddened by this, she hastened a retreat by donning her boots and her hat and that old familiar pile of down in order to take a walk — because nothing puts an end to verbal lashing like walking the neighborhood in subarctic conditions until you can’t move your mouth.
Upon Bossy’s return, Bossy’s son took the family in hand. “Here’s what we’re going to do,” Bossy’s son began, grabbing both Bossy and Bossy’s Unhusband and moving them toward the kitchen.
As it turns out, his idea was a novel one. It involved doing something. His utterly unique approach to solving the problem of the kitchen cabinet clutter was to attack the problem of the kitchen cabinet clutter. Imagine.
First, with the help of Bossy and her Unhusband, Bossy’s son emptied the contents of the cabinets onto the dining room table:
And through this process, Bossy’s son and his two children otherwise known as his parents discovered all manner of obsolete, long-ignored items:
After the out of date things had been discarded, Bossy and Bossy’s son and Bossy’s Unhusband organized the remaining items into categories:
And then the remaining things could be returned to their rightful home within the kitchen cabinets:
By the way, it may look to all the world as though Bossy’s son was doing all the work, but believe Bossy, he was. That’s because Bossy and her Unhusband were busy drowning in a wholesome cup of hot chocolate:
When it was all complete, Bossy and her Unhusband and Bossy’s son stood back and admired “their” work:
And then Bossy and her son and her Unhusband enjoyed a high five. Or would that be a high fifteen?