The Minimalist

For richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, for better or worse were the marriage vows I took. No one said anything about becoming a minimalist. If they did, I would have remembered it. Don’t know what a minimalist is? Me neither — had to look it up.

As I came in from cutting grass, the Wife met me in the kitchen. She said, “Honey, I think I’m becoming a minimalist.”

As I poured a glass of water I replied, “Okay.” Then put the water pitcher back into the refrigerator, but not before spilling some on the floor. I reached for the roll of paper towels, but they weren’t on the counter top. In fact, there was nothing on any of the kitchen counters.

Following me into the bathroom she asked, “You don’t know what a minimalist is, do you?”

“Nope, not a clue,” I retrieved a bath towel and started back to the kitchen, “Don’t even know where the paper towels are.”

“A minimalist is someone who doesn’t like to have everything out on display. A true minimalist will have only one or two things per shelf, very few pictures on the walls, and nothing on counter tops. What do you think about that?”

Bending over to clean up the water I replied, “At least now I know what happened to the roll of paper towels.”

“No, really what do you think?”

Tossing the towel towards the laundry basket and missing, I said, “I think you’ve watched too much HGTV.” That comment earned me a punch in the arm.

For the next 20 minutes, The Wife took me around the house and proudly showed off her minimalism. Counter top, desk, night stands, dressers and shelving were completely clear of junk — mostly my junk. The entire house had been de-cluttered. I must admit, our house did look neater, and bigger. Get rid of all the junk and the house will double in size. Guess we didn’t have to move after all.

Even the bathrooms had not survived her minimalist culling. On my side of the bathroom the only things left out were a toothbrush, soap, and a box of tissue. But gazing at The Wife’s side, things were vastly different. A pear shaped bottle of perfume, half a dozen knick-knack boxes, a vase of flowers, and a silver canister of small paint brushes adorned her counter.

When asked where everything went, The Wife replied, “The things we didn’t need and weren’t essential are now boxed up and in the basement.”

I pointed towards her counter, “But all your make-up stuff is still out.”

“That’s because makeup is essential.”

Not wanting to argue, I spent the rest of the day in the basement — sorting through all of my ‘non-essential’ stuff. My collection of miniature bath soap, shampoo, conditioner, hand cream, and shower caps filled two boxes. All procured from places we stayed while on vacation the last eight years. How the collection could be determined none essential was beyond me.

Two other boxes contained stuff from The Boy’s room. He’s off at college and we’re turning it into an office. Least last time I talked to him he was at college. He only calls when he needs money, or when he ... well, needs money.

The last box was filled with flower vases, pictures that never got hung on the walls, and the old toaster oven. After two hours, I finally had enough.

I was not going to give in to The Wife. Even if she was a minimalist, I didn’t have to be. If I wanted all my stuff laying out everywhere, then so be it. I put my foot down, unboxed all of my non-essential things, and proudly displayed all of them back on shelves where they belonged. I felt like the man of the house again. Then I cut off the light and left the basement.

Meeting her in the kitchen I said, “Hey, I finally know what minimalism is.”

“What is it?”

“It’s when you get tired of all my stuff laying around, box it up and throw it in the basement. Guess there’s nothing I have that is worthy of staying upstairs.”

As I pouted, The Wife walked over and tugged at my shirt. Then she looked up and gave a conspirator smiled. As she winked and kissed me she said, “No dear, there’s a few things you have that are essential. They can stay upstairs.”