Kitchen cupboard to be a black hole no longer

Remember the “Bugs Bunny Show” episode where “Wile E. Coyote” orders a humungous magnet from “Acme” but instead of sucking in the “Road Runner,” it attracts every conceivable metal object in the universe?
At my house, the cupboard under the kitchen sink must have the same “Acme” magnets hardwired in. How else would an ideal space for dish detergent and rubber gloves morph into a catch basin for everything else but what it was designed for?
Come to think of it, it hasn’t mattered what house I’ve lived in over the years, this cavern of chaos has materialized in the same place.
The absurdity of this problem leapt out at me a week or so ago when a doggy “doo” emergency on the bottom of my bare foot sent me hopping for rags, which used to be folded in a neat little pile under the kitchen sink between the box of garbage bags and a bottle of floor detergent.
Now I’m lucky if I can find them at all.
First off, just opening that cupboard leaves one at risk of bodily injury by the 140 objects being held in by the sheer force of the door.
And what’s with the need to hoard plastic bags from the grocery store? There must be 50 under the kitchen sink—chucked in one at a time.
As soon as you open the door, the change in air pressure sucks the fluid sea of bags out onto the kitchen floor, which, when searching for a rag to wipe off dog poop, at least gave me something to stand on.
The only creatures in the house who gravitate willingly to that squirreled space are the dogs, who believe that no matter how many tree seedlings they’ve dug up outside or whether they were out on the road when you called them in, deserve to have some of what’s under the kitchen sink.
That’s because a box of dog treats is included in that chaos. It sits precariously, holding its own amid the clutter of “necessities.”
Everything is fine until the box is empty. Removal and replacement of it with another must be done at the speed of light in order to avoid crashing tiered layers of goldfish bowls whose contents were emptied down the toilet by “accident,” spray paint cans last used in 1998, pickle jars full of nails, and hideous bolts of “Mac Tac” from the ’70s.
The only object under the kitchen sink that makes any sense to an organized mind is an old soda pop carrier where yours truly stashes some of her hammers, an assortment of screwdrivers, and–because I am married to an electrician—enough black electrical tape to wrap the shed project like a mummy.
(By the way, in my world, screwdrivers are identified as “square,” “star,” and “flat.” Whoever thought the “Phillips” and “Robinson” idea would cut it in this organized mind is off his rocker).
So of course, the big adventure to locate a rag led me to into unknown territory where, quite frankly, GPS mapping or perhaps even a Geiger counter would have made better sense.
That’s because while I was digging further and further into the back of this chaotic mess called a cupboard, I found the one thing I’d forgot about and wasn’t prepared for—and it made stepping in dog poop seem like a walk in the park with runners on.
A mouse trap, set with peanut butter some 18 months ago for the little critter who moved into the house before us, was still poised to snap.
While it managed to go off without taking my fingers with it, the sudden surprise sparked a “Jekyll-like” mood and a clean sweep of the cupboard contents onto the floor.
It’s amazing how much stuff I can part with when I’m mad.

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