De-cluttering and becoming minimalist has had some fun moments. My husband is starting to get on board and agreed to go through old paperwork with me that was stored neatly, although obsessively, in our many (Eight! Seriously!) file cabinets. I found an entire set of folders of old grocery receipts, dated in the 1990s. I learned some interesting things about my husband from them.
“I never bought Cheez Whiz,” he says.
“Hoo Hoo, it says Cheez Whiz, right here. April, 1996. You bought Cheez Whiz.”
“Maybe I was making Macaroni and Cheese?”
“Cheez Whiz is the stuff that you spray out of a can, right?”
“I don’t eat that stuff.”
Pause for “the look,” which after 12 years of marriage is close to being perfect.
“It must have been for a party or something.”
Days later, I proceeded to shred the evidence, along with stuff that had financial information and social security numbers, perhaps more damaging in the wrong hands than even the Cheez Whiz receipt. The somewhat ancient shredder died on me, so I bagged it up along with the paper shreds. I actually made it so far as to toss the whole thing in the trash can (cut me some slack, our recycling bin was full, and I just wanted the stuff out of the house).
Later, my husband rescued the whole thing.
The shredder was just temperamental, he said (sure enough, scared for its life in a land fill, it started right back up). The shreds were not cross-cut, so they needed to be burned in the backyard. (Yes, yes, green police, I know, strike two.)
So, what was the purpose of spending time with the old shredder if it still required burning paper in the backyard?
Booyah! score one for Minimalist Wife and the shredder is no longer taking up space in our basement. (Minimalist Wife is blessed to have a husband who can concede defeat when presented with logic.)
The shredder never did make it out to the donation pile in the car, so I have my suspicion it might have been quietly buried in the backyard where it will one day be unearthed and declared an ancient device used in religious rituals.
Progress is progress.