Plastics

Mr. McGuire: I want to say one word to you. Just one word.
Benjamin: Yes, sir.
Mr. McGuire: Are you listening?
Benjamin: Yes, I am.
Mr. McGuire: Plastics.

Apparently, I wasn't listening. I know plastic breeds. It sits in your cabinets quietly reproducing, setting up new colonies, electing representatives to Congress. You think it's under control until one day when you open the door and the whole plastic civilization decides to immigrate across your borders and there's nothing you can do. I know that. So there's really no excuse for this:

I was determined to get the situation under control, though. We'd bought the most cunning little interchangeable system of plastic storage containers As Seen On TV (not to mention As Seen In My Mother-in-Law's House) over Christmas and this meant, of course, that I had to make room for it. I went on a controlled rampage yesterday and out it all went. Out with the leftover Rangers cups, and Grapevine Mills cups, and the "disposable" Ziploc containers, and the egg-dyeing kit, and the cookie cutters, and the Jello mold in the shape of a train, and the little shower caps for bowls, and the sports bottles. It all went away and now I'm happy. The kitchen is a baby step more organized. And in the cupboards, the elections are getting underway.