Knowing I should know better, I reluctantly agreed. Quickly, Mark filled his allotted drawer to the very brim with vital things like sandpaper, screwdrivers, and roll after roll of duct tape. I stepped in as he tried to jam a cordless drill on top.
“One drawer,” I reminded him.
“I know.” Mark flashed me his familiar smile, the same smile that got me to agree to paint the bedroom my least favorite color and go on vacation to Arkansas in August. “One drawer is all I need.” Pause. “Well, maybe two drawers would be a better idea. Then I could definitely store my new flashlight charger in here. The kitchen is a good place to keep a flashlight charger.”
And so it went. Before I could say “Hot Springs National Park,” my mixer was sharing a shelf with boxes of bolts. My dishcloths nestled next to tubes of caulk. And my poor Bundt pan was relegated to an empty spot in the laundry room. I got used to looking for the blender and finding a staple gun. It seemed normal to stow the cereal boxes beside paintbrushes. And, in a warped way, it did make sense for Mark to store everything upstairs, saving himself from that long trek down the basement.
Then came the day when I opened a skinny cupboard wedged between the dishwasher and the refrigerator and discovered that it was empty. That particular cupboard had somehow escaped our notice. Staring in delight, I tried to decide just what might t in the small, awkward space. Aluminum foil? Waxed paper? Perhaps the Bundt pan if I stood it on its side?
Mark strolled into the kitchen, interrupting my reverie. “Hey,” he commented, “I didn’t realize that cupboard was empty. It’s the perfect spot for my new airless—”
I slammed the door shut. I had had enough. “This cupboard is taken,” I informed him. The only fingerprints I want to see on it are mine and Betty Crocker’s.”
Seeing That I meant business, Mark backed down. “You keep it,” he told me generously. “After all, that is your kitchen.”
I’m thinking of having husband-proof locks installed. And I know just who to hire to install them.