Never Enough Stuff

Why do we need so much stuff?  In fact, much of the stuff we think we need only serves to make us miserable. I’m perfectly happy with my two pairs of shoes and much to my wife’s dismay; I continue to wear only one of them. The other pair must sit idly by in the closet and wonder what they did.

We’ve had this discussion; my wife has about two hundred pairs of shoes. Try as she may, she cannot find a way to wear two pair at one time. All those shoes sit
in the closet and call to her. In the night, her stuff haunts her. She is the only person I know whose stuff has stuff. We moved recently, and much of our stuff was placed in storage.

So, being a guy, I only imagined I had stuff to worry about. You know, things like. Is Georgia going to beat South Carolina? Or worse, Georgia lost that game, now the question has to be asked for another whole year.

Was that pig’s foot, on the ground, too long to pick it up and eat it? If no one sees me pick it up, did it actually fall, at all? Sorry, there are just some foods that are too good to let a little thing like touching the ground, or falling on the table, stop you from eating them. Peanut M&M’s, for example, macaroni and cheese or BBQ ribs.

Is my beer cold enough? Is my steak hot enough and does my wife know about the two hundred bucks stashed in the garage? Does she know about the girl next door who keeps asking to go mud bogging in my truck? Will those tires get me through that mud hole or do I need to buy bigger ones? What are the two guys' names who are running for president and are either, for or against, gun control? These are the true questions of life, but for a small, uncommonly cute Peruvian woman, the questions are much more complex.

When we moved, at least 196 pairs of shoes, eighteen hair brushes and dozens of
coats were placed, with tons of other stuff, in storage. Poor girl has not had a decent night’s sleep ever since. When we eat dinner out, she gets a little misty, and we then have to pay a visit to the storage unit, which is out of the way, and a little too far to go at 10pm. She must sit in the unit and console her stuff for a few minutes, trying desperately to make her stuff and herself feel better about the plight they collectively find themselves in. She pets and whispers sweet nothings to the abandoned stuff and upon returning home falls asleep with tears drying on her face. Whimpering in the night is more likely related to visions of abandoned brushes, not horrific scenes caused by too many onions at dinner or too many late night horror movies.

Recently, she made a trip to D.C. To prepare for the trip, a visit to the storage unit was required. Of course, the mental fallout of that trip will take weeks for her
and her poor mistreated stuff to get over. She dug and picked through everything in the unit, to select one coat for the trip. As with each visit, much more than is needed returned to our already packed, little apartment. It’s kind of like going shopping, your wife picks out ten pairs of shoes, you tell her that three will do, she agrees to buy eight, but somehow checks out with twelve. You smile and pretend not to notice, simply so you may live to fight another day.

I was married to a Georgia girl before. Picking a coat to make the D.C. trip would have been an easy thing for her. After all, a fur-lined jean jacket goes with everything. For my Peruvian wife, it was a life-altering decision. She wanted to take five coats, for a three day trip, but ultimately settled on four. One pair of pajamas turned into four, and several brushes, a lamp and whatever could be placed in the car, when I wasn’t looking, made the trip home as well. Here’s the crazy part: she already has six brushes. I have one, every time she leaves the house, mine is the one that goes with her.

Stuff, and the worrying over stuff, causes too much stress. My poor wife tosses and turns over the mental health of her stuff. As long as some of it is relegated to live in the dungeon at the public storage building, she will continue to have nightmares. We will continue to make visits at odd hours to comfort its contents. I’m not sure her stuff feels any better after our visit, but she does, and after all, isn’t that what counts?    

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