The Drawer of Plenty

Boofuls was a bit uncomfortable today.

It was my fault.

I was rummaging though his hallowed drawers of stuff’.

He hates it when I touch his stuff.  He’s particularly uncomfortable with me being in the    ‘drawers of plenty’   in his desk, that wonderland of wires, that cornucopia of cabling,  that profusion of plugs and superabundance of scarts. You know, good manly stuff. It’s no place for a woman.

This story actually begins several weeks ago with a builder coming to measure for a downstairs toilet to bring us into the 21st century before we reach the 22nd.

The builder ummed and measured, tutted and tapped the walls while I was quietly  planning how the new utility room would look – and that look did not include the old fashioned filing cabinet that currently graces it.

“Empty the filing draws in your desk  of all your ‘stuff  and I’ll put my files in there and get rid of this old cabinet.”

“Ok love. I’ll buy some storage units and they can go in the workshop.” At that point I was thinking to myself, ‘Wow. that was way too easy.’

The new storage cabinets were bought and then left in the hall for over a week. Not being a woman blessed with too much patience, I took the job upon myself. ( See previous post: women think it: do it. Men: think it and then  make a plan to be followed through at some future point.  I rest my case m’lud)

Still feeling a bit groggy from my migraine of the day before,  I made a start on emptying  the drawers of plenty into the new cabinets for removal to the workshop. Boofuls caught me “Don’t do that love, you don’t

feel well. I’ll do it,” he said kindly.

I continued to move his stuff, casually untangling a wire from the hundreds of others in there, pulling and twisting it as I went.

” No really love, you rest.  I’ll do it.” I heard his voice rise in pitch with the strain of seeing me with his precious wiring .

Still I continued.

Eventually he just couldn’t stand it any longer: ” Just. Put. It. DOWN! ” That last sentence was delivered through clenched teeth as he desperately tried not to physically drag me away from the  cupboard of copiousness.

“Oh dear Boofuls, is the strain of seeing me in your stuff getting to you?”

“Yes. Leave it alone”

After he’d extricated a promise from to me not actually throw anything away but just to transfer it to the cabinets he calmed down a bit and eventually the old filing cabinet was cleared out, emptied and everything lives in it’s new home.

Poor Boofuls, he gets so attached to things.  I’m not even going to mention the mobile phones I found. ‘Course, we can’t throw them away, they might come in useful!

New phone, anyone?

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