Proven Right, Score One for Fakefish

You know that theory where in every relationship, one partner is the (insert thing here) and the other partner is the (insert opposite thing here)?  Like one partner is the worrier and the other  doesn’t.   Or one partner is the keeper/saver and the other is the disposer/spender.  Well in my case, I am the disposer/spender in our relationship, and Fakefish is the keeper/saver.  I don’t like clutter and I get a bit, well, savage when it comes to getting rid of things.  I am ruthless, heartless, and overall, I consider the majority of our belongings as Just Stuff.  Oh sure, there are sentimental things and important things that we will hang on to forever, but when it comes down to something like, oh, an old t-shirt that is stained, rips in the arm pits, and the collar is voluntarily separating from the shirt, it’s pretty obvious to me that the shirt has reached the end of its usefulness as a garment and away it goes.  Fakefish will agonize over it, though. He believes that immediately after the trash truck collects our garbage he will have an opportunity to win a contest with/save the world/have a burning need for that t-shirt.  His point was proven (for once) this weekend.

Fakefish had this baseball cap washing cage, like this:

 

Now, we have been married for about 6 1/2 years, and together for nearly a decade, and never once, not a single, solitary time in almost ten years has he actually USED this hat washing cage.  The cages are a real booger to store, using a lot of space but not being terribly durable, and they’re plastic so as they age they get brittle.  One cage was lost to breakage a couple of years ago.  The second one got moved from shelf to awkward storage bin to shelf until this week I finally couldn’t stand it any more.  It had migrated from the closet to under the bed and had been trying to make a break for it into the greater part of the bedroom when I put us both out of our misery.

Not 48 hours after I threw away the hat cage, Fakefish comes in with a sweaty baseball cap, looks under the bed for the cage and says, “Where did it go?  I need to wash this hat.”

Um.  Heh.  Well….  *drag foot along the floor* I threw it away.   He gave me the injured look of  husbands everywhere upon discovering their precious Guy Stuff has been tossed.  But to his credit, he didn’t say “I told you so.”  Will this keep me from throwing away things I think are useless or past their prime?  No.  But I do owe my husband a hat cage… if only I can find somewhere to store it.