Throwing in the towel

How do you decide when to throw things out? And how do you get your spouse to agree that it's necessary?

I'm speaking, of course, theoretically. We never have problems of this nature in our household. We both promptly dispose of items that have fulfilled their purpose and no longer fit into our busy lifestyle. Or our small house.

Right.

Some people have a difficult time getting rid of things even when they no longer work, and have no hope of ever working again. My husband is one such person.

For a long time now, the can opener and I have been at odds. I wanted it to work, and it did not want to oblige me. It repeatedly came up with new ways to avoid working. Sometimes it would get halfway around the can and then just stop, as if it were 5:00 and quitting time. Sometimes it was almost impossible to turn, and sweat would be pouring down my back when I finally finished turning it. Sometimes it would go all the way around the can, seemingly as it should, but the lid would still be as stuck as the day it was soldered on. In desperation I would sometimes use a bottle opener to punch little holes in the can and drain the contents, drip by agonizingly slow drip. I knew the can opener's days were numbered, but I also knew Joe would not see this issue quite the same way.

One day the can opener staged an open rebellion. It would not even grip the can properly. When I closed the handles, two rows of teeth met above the can. The teeth made a jeering smile, looking up at me, daring me to make the opener pry open the can.

"That's it," I said. "I should have done this a long time ago." I opened the wastebasket, held the can opener over it for a few seconds to let it know I was serious, and gleefully dropped it in. I felt a strange sense of giddiness.

And then I remembered two things. One, I needed that can opened to make dinner. Two, Joe would not be happy to know I had thrown something out, even if it didn't work.

I solved #1 by borrowing a friend's can opener. #2 was a bit more tricky. The can opener could still nark on me, lying as it was right on the top of the wastebasket, and Joe could easily take it back out of the wastebasket, which he might very well do. So I took a deep breath, plunged my hand deep in the wastebasket, and buried the can opener under the other garbage. There, I said. He'll never know it's gone. I figured since he didn't have much personal knowledge of the can opener, he would never know when I bought a new one that I had replaced it.

See the lengths to which a person will go when her spouse refuses to get rid of things? Reduced to hiding things at the bottom of the wastebasket.

I made one teeny tiny mistake, which ruined all my carefully laid plans. I left the borrowed can opener on the kitchen counter, intending to return it the next day. "Hey, what's this?" Joe asked when he saw it. Apparently he had enough knowledge of our former can opener to know that this wasn't it.

"Um, that's Abbie's can opener," I said. "I'm, um, watching it for her."

He looked skeptical.

"Well, actually, our can opener wouldn't work, so I borrowed hers." I was deliberately vague about the fate of our own can opener. I tried to block his view of the wastebasket so he wouldn't get any ideas.

"Well," he said, "don't throw the other one out. I'm sure we can still use it."

I must have looked guilty. Or maybe it was my eyes, straying toward the wastebasket, that tipped him off.

"You threw it out," he said accusingly.

I nodded.

"But it was less than two years old!" he said.

"It wouldn't work," I said.

"But it was less than two years old!"

"That can opener hasn't worked right for ages!" I said. "It's supposed to be this fancy thing that's soooo easy to turn and works like a dream but no, the stupid thing refuses to turn and this time it wouldn't even grip the can and I got tired of it not working and so I threw it out."

He looked at me as if I were a small child. "Was the can upside down?" he asked.

"What do you mean, was the can upside down? Of course the can wasn't upside down!" I said indignantly.

"Cuz I had trouble with the can opener one time, and I realized I had the can upside down," he said.

Of course, the problem is never with the object itself. I must have a faulty method of operation.

"It wouldn't work, I'm telling you," I said.

He sighed and looked at the wastebasket.

"Don't even think about it," I warned. "It's buried wayyyy down at the bottom."