Stuff

My wife is addicted to stuff. Well, not stuff. Stuff to put stuff in. She loves boxes and crates, baskets and shelves. Every half year or so, she’ll get sick of the mess bogging down our house and go on a pilgrimage to some sort of Container Store-esque place. Today, she made a visit to Long Island’s very own Ikea, and came home with two enormous boxes.

One contained a shelving unit to place the stuff in my daughter’s room. The other contained a shelving unit to place the stuff in the den. Soon, we’ll need a box or bag to put the stuff that holds the stuff that contains the stuff. It gets confusing, and sometimes a bit bewildering. I love my wife, and clearly it could be worse. There are people addicted to jewels, to crack, to sports. She’s merely addicted to large wood shelves.

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