We’re fighting about this?!

My husband Dave and I recently got into a pretty serious argument about our “Tupperware drawer.” Before you reach out to offer those big endorsement bucks, Tupperware, I should disclose that this drawer is filled with reusable takeout containers and lids, as well as a variety of other brands of plastic containers. But alas, no actual Tupperware.

We’ve had this same argument countless times over the course of our 20-year marriage. I have many wonderful qualities, but keeping this drawer looking neat just isn’t one of them. I can always find what I’m looking for, so it’s not a big deal to me. Dave, apparently, feels differently.


I should also note that Dave and I are both sensitive people who feel things deeply. And that includes our opinions on the Tupperware drawer, so when we argue about its (dis)organization, there may or may not be raised voices and swearing.

I was thinking about this a few weeks after our most recent “discussion” about the drawer. And I have no idea why, after 20 years, I never realized the complete ridiculousness of the majority of things we (and most married couples, I’m guessing) fight about.

This is the man I chose to spend my life with. We own a home and have two children together. Our names are on the same credit cards and checking accounts. I’m the one who drove Dave to the hospital after the Great Slip ‘N Slide Accident of ’07 (more on that another time). Dave saw my 8th grade class photo and chose to marry me anyway.

And THIS is what we choose to take issue with? How the plastic containers are (un)organized in a drawer?

I also came to the realization that there are things that other people do, I take issue with those things, and never say a word about them. I tried to use a coupon in the supermarket this morning, and when it wouldn’t scan, I stood there as minutes of my life went by, and the cashier literally stared at the coupon, trying to figure out what to do with it. Did I yell at HER? Of course not; I thanked her.

I once had a co-worker try to change a flat tire on my car in the parking lot. In the process, he stripped the screws on my spare tire, rendering it completely useless and necessitating a flat bed tow truck. Again, I said my thank-yous and didn’t call him any names.

But again, marry me and criticize how some plastic is arranged in a drawer? All bets are off, my friend.




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