“Come on let’s twist again like before my wife threw them all out.” –Jeff Brown
They were gone– every single last one of them. Panicked, I looked inside a couple more drawers.
Where were they? Somebody must have swiped them, but who would do such a thing? Then it occurred to me. When my wife walked into the kitchen I asked, “Do you know where they are?”
“Where what are?”
“You know what I’m talking about.”
“No I don’t”
“Yes you do.”
She grabbed a container of dog food from the pantry and set in on the table. “Refresh my memory.”
I gestured towards the empty drawer. “All of my twist ties are gone.”
“Oh those,” she said, pouring some food into a dish. “I threw them away.”
I suppose I always knew deep down in my soul that it was only a matter of time before Vickie pitched my stash of twist ties or “twisties” as us enthusiasts commonly refer to them. She always seemed disapproving of my brightly colored collection cluttering up the silverware drawer. You see, for years I’ve thrown the occasional wayward twisty in there because, well, you never know when you might need one.
That’s just the way this former Cub Scout is wired. Call it prudence, call it provident care in the management of resources, but I like to be prepared for life’s little emergencies.
Slogan: Keep calm and carry one.
In my hand I held the bane of my existence. It was one of those little flat plastic clip thingies you find sealing lots of hamburger bun bags these days. They’re a pain when it comes to re-sealing and sometimes, depending on my mood, I’ll even tear the bag in the process.
Under normal circumstances, when faced with this adversity, I’d just, well, you know, open my silverware drawer, reach in, and in no time at all be twisting like Chubby Checker. Sadly, these were no ordinary times. Yes, it was true, all of my twist ties were gone– every single last one of them!
I threw my hands up and complained, “Now what am I supposed to do?”
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“I sure could use a twist tie right now.”
“Don’t you have some under the sink?”
“Those are trash bag twisties.” I shook my head and bit my lip, trying not to grin. “You can’t use them on baked goods bags. Everyone knows that.”
She rolled her eyes and sighed. “I’m trying to keep you off of that TV show Hoarders. Remember, the first step to recovery is admitting you have a problem.”
I crossed my arms. “Ha-ha. I’ll admit my problem when you admit yours.”
I pointed to the gigantic mound of used plastic Wal-Mart bags heaped inside the pantry.
“Those are for the dog when we go for walks.” She placed his dish on the floor. “You know that.”
It’s true, but the irony of Vickie’s obsession with plastic bags and my hoarding for the impending twist tie apocalypse was not lost on me. I suppose it’s proof that we’re the perfect couple. The Yin of her plastic bags goes superbly with the Yang of my twist ties.
I just hope she doesn’t go nosing around inside the bottom drawer. This former Cub Scout is saving up for the great Popsicle stick catastrophe too.