I have an unnatural attachment to boxes. Something comes in the mail, I will let a box sit unopened on my table for days, just to relish in the idea that I have something new to enjoy. If I decide to open the box, I may or may not remove the contents, close the box and let it sit on my table for another few days with or without it’s booty inside.
Being an empty nester, all attention and time that was spent on my kids are now redirected to myself. And ask horrific questions like, “Why do I have a basement full of empty boxes?” *dying*
Could it be that I didn’t have a lot of new things when I was younger? Could it be that I’ve latched onto the depression era where they’d save spare string from the hem of their garments? Could it be that I’m subconsciously planning on returning every item I own? Perhaps a rare case of box hoarding? It’s difficult to say. However I’ve found one perk to this quirk. It’s easier to find my shoes in the closet if they are neatly stacked in boxes they came in.
Happy unboxing day.