Those 70ish Girls

“I’ve been wanting to talk to you about something for a while, now,” Kip said.

“That sounds rather ominous,” I said. “Are you not feeling well? Are you sick? Please tell me you’re okay! I need a driver. I can’t drive this rig out on the open highway! Someone could get seriously injured! Think of the dogs.”

“What are you talking about?” Asked Kip.

“What are you talking about?” I volleyed.

Kip would have walked over and sat on the couch if we had one, but because we don’t, he pulled out a chair and sat down on it, while I stood there and became increasingly concerned about where this conversation was going.

“You have to get over your need to put everything we own in a basket,” he proclaimed. “You have begun to put little baskets inside of bigger baskets. You can’t walk by a basket in a store without standing there for what feels to me like an eternity, trying to decide where you can put another basket and what you can put in it! And while we’re on the subject, what is the purpose of using paper plates if you have to put them inside a paper plate holder basket thingy?”

“But they’re all so cute,” I said.

“Babies are cute, baskets are beginning to irritate the heck out of me. I was looking for my wallet the other day and guess where I found it?”

“Well,” (I volleyed, again). “It was either in my handbag or in that cute little ‘container’ I found on sale at Tractor Supply.”

“A basket by any other name is still a basket,” he countered.

“I like baskets because I can pick them up with all of their contents and easily dust under them…I knew I had lost the argument before the words were even out of my mouth.”