Biding My Time

Yesterday, I was in a mood to clean, so I headed out to the garage and cleaned the nook around my husband's work bench. Which meant that I:

took everything off the table, the pegboard organizer, and the two shelves above,

pulled the massive beast out from the wall so I could clamber in, around, and above, 

vacuumed every inch,

scrubbed it all down with a bucket of warm water and Simple Green.

 

I also pulled half a dozen stray nails out of the walls, dusted the top of the shop light, and made a note to self to repaint the walls this summer. 

As I wrapped up my tasks for the day, I was feeling pretty darn good.

Until I remembered that I still had a wee bit more work ahead of me.

Yeah.

Here are the contents of the two shelves and the top of the bench.

My husband's lifetime collection of pretty much every construction- or DIY-related object he's ever  purchased, as well as every old, worn-out thing he has replaced. 

He's a bit of a squirrel, this one, always tucking things away for safe-keeping because you never know when it might come in handy. 

As you may have guessed, he and I do not share the same idea of what an orderly space should look like. 

And while it's tempting for me to roar through this mess like Hurricane Marie Kondo, tossing 99 items out of one hundred into the trash and beautifully arranging the remainder into a temple of practicality and accessibility, I wouldn't dare.

Because I promise you my husband knows the exact status and location of every bent nail, partly used light bulb, and cast-off piece of trim. And if I mess with his stuff, I would likely suffer the same fate as Marie Antoinette. 

So I have mustered up all my forces of patience and self-control, and left this giant heap of flotsam and jetsam strewn across half of my otherwise-pristine garage, until this weekend, when my husband can properly sort through it himself. 

Of course, I shall be at the ready as his humble assistant, work gloves on, donation box handy, and ready to whisk anything off to the depths of the trash as soon as he gives the word. I'll also style the heck out of whatever he decides to keep, because a decluttered and well-organized work bench can be also be cute..

I shall be the Marie Curie to his Pierre, and together, we will win the Nobel Prize for Clean Garages. 

And until that glorious day, I shall bide my time.