I have concluded that after a couple of sump pump failures one becomes unnaturally drawn to the plastics aisle. Plastic bins and containers of all sizes and colors have an almost mystical draw for me these days. It used to be that wide-eyed kid in a candy store look was saved for jewelry or really pretty clothes, but things change. Now it is storage containers in bright colors that stop me in my tracks.
I think this development is a little pitiful and probably therapy worthy. There was a time when my life was more than the sum total of my plastic storage totes…there was a time when I was perfectly content with generic cardboard boxes that I had recycled from purchased items. I used to be so unaffected by the limits of cardboard boxes – I used to believe they were just as good as any old plastic bin (perhaps even better as they were free).
Now I am jaded by the effect water has on cardboard and once one has gone over to the dark side (also known as the plastics aisle) – it is difficult to imagine ever going back to the Pollyanna days of using cardboard storage. I believe I can safely say without fear of contradiction that I have more plastic containers than the average household does at this point. I think if there is ever a television show about people who have become obsessed with a particular item and have now let that obsession control their life I may be featured. I recognize my affinity for plastic has crossed the line.
So should you see me at a local store in the plastics aisle staring longingly at an 18 gallon tote feel free to tell me to keep moving – I won’t be offended…I will know it is in my best interest. And heaven forbid, should you see me with bins in my cart…feel free to stage an intervention.
Day six hundred and fifty-six of the new forty – obla di obla da