Wall Of Shame.

Our basement is a horrible place. We keep our scale and chest freezer down there, and as well, I'm pretty sure it might have been a human slaughterhouse at one point. Our saddest furniture lives on it's bare cement floor, studded with old rusty pins that we get stuck in our feet despite weekly sweepings since we bought the joint in 2008. It is miserable, and cold, and full of bugs. It is devoid of any joy whatsoever, beyond THE BOX.

The box arrived years ago, from where I cannot remember. It sits in the corner of the basement, stuffed with old unlovables, and I'm all giggles every time I walk by. It's like a tiny wall of shame for prudish stone figurines. Every time I see the box, I can't help but to envision a tiny grey gnome calmly and gingerly explaining to their disappointed male partner why they aren't ready to "take the relationship to that level yet".

~sarah p.