If Mr. and Mrs. Rees have 11 children and not one of them has decided to throw out all of their crap before moving out to pursue adulthood and each individual
child kept mementos from each year of their life and on average moved out when
they were 23 then how many layers of crap is Rachel going to have to go through
to find the back of the storage shed?
253 Layers
That’s 253 layers of ballet costumes, batting averages,
Nursing school homework, badly written poetry, action figures, favorite dolls, original
knock-knock jokes, and lots and lots of black widows that have been the only hands and eyes that have seen all thus crap for years.
If I’m going to be
elbow-deep in these 253 layers then I get to write about it. Yes, I am aware that the badly written poetry
was from me but I’m still the oldest girl and in charge of everybody and
everything.
Each child has three main
layers that accumulate all items: childhood, high school, and college, all of
which took place while living with our parents.
These layers were layered into cupboards, sheds, closets, and garages as
the child continued through life until a human being was insane enough to marry
into this hot mess and then the Rees child was gone…leaving the layers
behind. Whatever Rees child was left to
take over that recently married sibling’s space was then free to move all of
those layers to a different closet, shed, cupboard so that the unmarried
sibling could continue layering his/her layers until another insane person came
along to whisk him/her away. I think the
system worked great up until about the 200th layer. It was then that we could have opened the
Massive Museum of Art and Artifacts of Three Decades of Reesdom and made plenty
off of the ticket sales.
It’s all under control now.
The big sister is here to rescue the remaining Rees babies from being
crushed by the impending landslide of 253 layers of “really important memories
that I just can’t throw away.”
I’m like a ghost-buster but only for Reeses. A Rees-buster.
The question is, who cares about my stories?
Don’t you know anything?
A storyteller never cares if you want to hear the
story. A storyteller just tells stories
to whoever dares make eye contact. We
think, “They’ve made eye contact. They
want a story.” It’s the same instinct
that the people who sell stuff at mall kiosks have. I know you know what I’m talking about. I got my storytelling from my Grandpa
Rees. You can’t escape until Grandpa and
I said The End.
So, you want to hear some stories? Like you have a choice.
