Thursday, October 22, 2015
I can easily say of the never-ending task of cleaning the garage that it is, well, never-ending. But occasionally a surprise or two pops up.
The other day I was looking for my birth certificate. I tried all the usual places - you know, places where it should be but wouldn't be because those places would make too much sense.
File cabinet? Nope.
Sock drawer? It wouldn't be there, would it?
My box of stuff in the basement? Can't believe it wasn't there.
Oh, oh, oh. I know. In the trunk I've been carting around for years.