The dust was collecting on the 2005 Food & Wine magazines. The National Geographic’s from 2006 were looking a little lonely, and the Woodworking magazines dating back to 2001 clearly hadn’t been touched in years. And yet there they sat, in huge piles on the floor next to my husband’s side of the bed. And I just couldn’t take it anymore.
I’m not sure why my husband, an otherwise normal, upright citizen, hoards his magazines. Dozens and dozens of them have been piling up in our bedroom for years, and so, for years, I’ve been ignoring them. Or trying to.
Every once in a while, I’d hint, “So uh, you gonna ever refer to the Thanksgiving issue of Bon Appétit from 2004?” But he’d just mumble something unintelligible, and I’d let it go. After all, I don’t want to discourage his love of cooking. Besides, I’m not a foodie, so I have no idea what having a few thousand pages of recipes lying around does for a chef’s creativity, even if said chef hasn’t looked at them since the day they appeared in our mailbox sometime during President Bush’s first administration.
But when I was making the bed the other day and a Runner’s World magazine, still dusty from our house renovations two years ago landed on my foot, I had it. Also I wondered what could possibly be said about running to fill an entire magazine every month.
So, I started making piles of magazines on the bed: a foot-high pile of Food & Wine, a collection of various woodworking magazines, some kitchen renovation catalogs from before we actually renovated our kitchen, and a 2003 Computer Buyer’s Guide, which is probably about as relevant now as a 1978 rotary phone catalog.
I filled the recycling bin with the catalogs, including a 2001 Astronomical Guide, figuring that even though the sky doesn’t change much, astronomers had since kicked Pluto out of their club, and so the guide could go.
Then I put all magazines published before 2009 into boxes and bags and put them in another room. And then I waited. And waited.
My husband said nothing.
Finally, I cornered him in the bathroom where he was brushing his teeth and asked, “So uh, you gonna ever refer to all those magazines I cleaned out and piled up in the other room?”
He said, “I dunno. I have to look at them.”
“So, when you’re looking for a recipe, you look through old magazines, or do you look it up on the Internet?” I asked.
“Internet,” he garbled through his toothpaste.
“So perhaps you can get rid of all those foodie magazines and the 2003 Computer Buyer’s Guide?” I asked.
But he didn’t answer me. He just shrugged, spit out his toothpaste, and left.
And now, so will all those (&@! magazines.
Originally published on MommaSaid