I'm a piler. I pile and pile and pile. Mostly papers, although the ironing pile gives me a run for my money. Sometimes I just grab something that's been on or near the bottom of the ironing pile and hope for the best. It's never wrinkle free, like you would assume if my life were a movie or a novel or a CBS sitcom [I don't think NBC would have such a dumb plotline - I mean, c'mon, 30 Rock? Community? Maybe not ABC, either, as I've been pretty impressed with Modern Family. But I think CBS would. Because I don't watch any CBS comedies, so I'll just call them dumb.], but the wrinkles are hopefully a bit faded, like I'd been sitting in meetings all day, even though my first meeting is at 8:30am. Unless there's a weird crease running diagonally across my pant leg. Then it just goes back on the pile and hope I can get another day of wear out of my black dress pants.
Anyway, I'm a piler. It's compulsive. And it's gotten worse because now I'm BOXING stuff and leaving it to sit in my office.
Seriously. I'm a little afraid of becoming a hoarder.
you need to hire an anal retentive like me to organize your piles. it's fun for freaks like moi.
ReplyDeleteI am dialing A&E as we "speak."
ReplyDeleteAndy - You're hired. I need someone to be merciless.
ReplyDeleteTonya - O.k., but I'm kind of hoping they'll use a digital alterer so that no one will know my shame. Oh. Wait. I already posted it on the internets. Nevermind.