MM y los baños de espuma

MM hates clutter. More than anything. Nothing makes him happier than seeing me parting with a pair of pants, or a thick stack of paper, or anything.

MM happiness ∝ volume of things been thrown away

When “a thing” starts being unused for a long period of time (a long period of time = month) uneasiness starts getting into him and his first step is the insidious erosion of my will.

I will THE THINGS to stay.

MM rules exclude art. We can have a nice picture hanging on the wall as long as we want. Thanks god.

-We really need this?- he says and points to the scale frowning as if the aforementioned object were somewhat offensive.
-Yes, we really need that scale. I need the scale. Once a month we have people coming or whatever, and I cook a cake o whatever and I need the fucking scale.

And by then my adrenaline level (or whatever bullshit start flowing in your blood stream when you are upset) is high, and that brings up other issues and we finish having the monthly argument. I have a little problem with my adrenaline producing device, once it gets started it's difficult to stop.

At the beginning, when I was madly in love with MM and he was as cool as a lettuce (bad combination if you ask me) I gave up all my clothes, all my book and parted with all my things. Except for a few ones that I could fit inside a backpack that was suppose to be light enough for climbing hills in Crete. So gone where the sexy underwear, the outrageous clothing for acid parties, the more formal dresses for weddings, the clothes to big but just in case, the clothes to small but it’s it amazing that I was that thin once.

Things are changing now. The roles have been switched. Now I am the cool one, like a lettuce. Not very exciting, but very good for negotiations.

And MM in love bought a huge bottle of foam bath. Lets pamper ourselves and forget Thoreau. 48 fl of, or a gallon of foam bath. Lets say that the bottle is as big as the laundry soap one. I’m not big on foam bathes. I get bored there inside the bath. And books have a tendency to fall there. So I wasn't using that bottle much.

Anyway, not long ago I came home and found MM taking a foam bath. (Lately I get the feeling that MM is a cylon. Where is my work alcoholic darling MM? What Thoreau would had said about that?) All right then. Things change.

Let’s say that I’m myself a controlling bitch. Detail oriented they say. Depends who is talking. So when I saw the foam soap bottle almost empty I was puzzled. For a second. And there was the light and I understood. MM is not a cylon. Matok sheli.

He had a foam bath with a gallon of foam bath.
So he can get ride of the huge bottle.
The no clutter instinct is stronger.