SCRUB, Christina. SCRUB.

Like a lot of people, I binge watched Tidying Up with Marie Kondo after the New Year. At the time, I was super inspired. Converting this tiny Japanese woman’s vision into something that would work for a chaotic Scots-Irish household that looks like a Lego factory and a dog hair factory mated, and their offspring exploded in our living room? No problem!

I decided to start small, by reorganizing the kid’s dresser. Success! His day-of-the-week underpants are now stacked in such a way that I can see what day is on the butt without having to shuffle things around (because, as chaotic as we are, J and I are not about to put our kid in the wrong day’s underpants. The horror!).

Next came the linen closet, which involved some collaboration with the hubby. Here is an actual conversation we had:

Me (sarcastically): So this dingy towel you stole from the gym 15 years ago in order to help clean the snow off of your car—I assume it sparks joy for you?

J (not sarcastically): Actually, yes.

I mean, where do you even go from there?

We’re both lifelong packrats, and we’re both stubborn. So, for example, if I am questioned as to why I have held on to my AP Calculus prep book, when the contents are now as useful to me as the language of some long-dead civilization (good job of retaining information, brain!), I push back. “A boy wrote a nice note to me in it! It was the first sign that maybe I wasn’t entirely hideous!”

Of course, at 40, I should not need the help of a 23-year-old textbook to know I’m not hideous. But some days, it helps.

As to why one would find joy in a stolen gym towel? That, I have no idea.