(lawyers up)

Damn, Teppy. That request, to keep it literal, just kicked my legs out from under me. I don't keep those literal things in closets; they're in drawers.

Damn, Teppy. That request, to keep it literal, just kicked my legs out from under me.

But first I said that it can be uber-literal, or uber-metaphorical. Or anywhere in between. If you have stuff in a box, and it's in a drawer instead of a closet, by all means, go with that.

Hotay. See, in our house, if I put it in a closet, it's going to be doomed, because the cats will get to it.

Hotay. See, in our house, if I put it in a closet, it's going to be doomed, because the cats will get to it.

Heh. That fact alone would make for a funny, funny drabble. IJS.

t edit

I started it as a lark, but okay -- consider this a drabble from me. Man, I haven't written one in a long, LONG time!

* * * * * *

Salad Days

I wasn't trying to hide my old Prom corsages from my husband; I would have shown them to him so we could both get a laugh out of the dead flowers that meant everything to me as a 16-year-old.

The thing is, the corsages were in a shoebox in the hall closet, which is where the cats go when they're in the mood for adventure. The last I saw of my corsages was when Fang, the fat tabby, and Whappo, the Siamese, made a meal of the flowers from Prom 1985-1987, inclusive.

(snerk)

but....

That fact alone would make for a funny, funny drabble

Alas, what's in said boxes in my house, seriously not funny. Journals I'd forgotten I kept, from 1977 until 1982. AKA, landmines.

That fact alone would make for a funny, funny drabble

Alas, what's in said boxes in my house, seriously not funny. Journals I'd forgotten I kept, from 1977 until 1982. AKA, landmines.

Well, that's true. But if it were something fictionalized -- like the cats eating your Jimmy Choos but you kept them anyway out of sheer sentiment -- it could be funny. Or at least sweet, and not landmine-y.

Heh. I'm imagining Bree keeping half-gnawed Jimmy Choos and getting an incredulous look from Dom, for the lack of practicality in keeping unwearable Jimmy Choos.

t edit That was *not* me getting fanficcy with your characters -- it was just a one-shot image, because I associate Jimmy Choos with all things Kinkaid.

Well, considering she ruins a brand new pair of Jimmy Choos by slamming her stiletto heel into the back of a racist asshat who has a gun aimed at the back of Dom's head, in London Calling.....

I doubt Dom would bitch, much.

No, I'm imagining Dom being all practical, and "Why take up space in your closet with shoes you can't wear? Get some replacements!"

Great topic, Tep. And the summer job ones were excellent -- I kept meaning to do one, and then didn't.

A Box in the Back of the Closet

I don’t take it out much anymore. I’ve lost the need, somewhere along the line. It’s hard enough to find some joy every day without examining old hurts.

But I used to. Every wound – into the box it went, bundled away from the light and wrapped in tissue, as if I needed to protect it. They survive just fine without precautions, I’ve found.

I’d take out that box when I was already sunk deep. As if I needed to pour salt in the wounds, or adding old pain to the new would make the loneliness or the anger more real.