My parents aren’t hoarders. I’m not saying my parents are hoarders. That’s not what I’m saying.*
What I’m saying is, my parents have…tendencies. They like to accumulate stuff.
I do, too. I’m not exempt from this. I hate throwing things out, and if you visit my apartment, you’ll see that for yourself. So I’m not casting the first stone. We’re all in this together, Laxes.
Okay, here’s why I’m bringing this up: Last week I visited my parents’ house in Michigan and had plenty of free time to snoop through their kitchen drawers. Guess how many pie/cake servers they have?
And that’s not even counting the two “fancy” ones that belonged to my great grandmother, which, apparently, I’m not allowed to touch.
Know how many stirring spoons they had?
I should point out, my parents are not collectors and they’re not multi-millionaires. They’re just two people with a lot of kitchen utensils.
Which I will one day inherit.
*I make this point three times because Clevermom and Cleverdad read this blog, and I don’t want them running around telling their friends, “Ricky is going around calling us hoarders!”