So, the other night I was watching the Marie Kondo show on Netflix and my husband walked in. He plopped down on a chair and joined me and after a few minutes said, “This is ridiculous.” Ridiculous or not, we both sat, transfixed by the 4’8 Japanese speaking tidying magician, who only wears white tops and looks like she might double as the tooth fairy. We watched a few segments before finding a movie, but Peter, who could care less about tidying or organizing and does not share the calmness it creates in me when things are in order, laughed about whether or not our dinner “sparked joy.”
The next morning, I thought I must be dreaming, when I woke up to find Peter, who has no interest in cleaning anything, unless I literally BEG him, knee deep in the three shelf spice cabinet. “Take a look at this,” he said. “I Kondoized it!” I was happy even before coffee. On he went to the junk drawer, which very well might have been hiding Amelia Earhart. When he was done, he called me in for approval. I gave it to him. After 31 years of marriage, this was an entirely new and exciting act of foreplay.
The next day, he went on to “Marie” the shelf outside the kitchen, overburdened with cookbooks, financial papers, eight lint rollers. On to the downstairs closet. At this point, I began googling neurological diseases that had tidying as a symptom.
He has since done the pantry cabinet, the everything-I-don’t-know-what-to-do-with-in-the-kitchen cabinet, the refrigerator, the drinks cabinet, and the tool cabinet. I’m considering sending him out on assignment and charging a small fee.
So, if you doubt that Marie Kondo has some magical powers, I can tell you that I think she might. She got my husband to do something that I haven’t been able to get him to do in three decades. And he likes it! Oh yeah, I’ve got gratitude alright, of course, if I’m not careful with it, Peter may very well tidy it right out of the house.