I love to watch the television show “Hoarders.” I’ll usually watch it in the early morning hours, on a Saturday, when all my family is fast asleep.

I’ll grab a warm cup of coffee, get under a cozy blanket and watch as many hours as I can before one of my crew wakes up to start their day.

Then I quickly turn it off!

It’s my guilty pleasure. I can watch for hours and go room to room with these folks as they clutter one space and then the next with books, papers, boxes and tubs filled with knick-knacks from years gone by.

I’m certain, but for the fact my husband can’t stand “stuff,” I’d be a hoarder.

You see, I totally respect a hoarders reasoning behind holding onto mounds of “important papers” because who knows when one might get audited! And if I ever do, I plan to use that faded, parking receipt as a business tax deduction because every dollar counts. Not to mention, somewhere in one of those boxes, I’ve got instructions, manuals and warranties from toasters to alarm clocks to lawnmowers ... just in case I ever need them.

And like any good mother, I’ve got every handcrafted art project that my children have ever made. I’ve got macaroni glued necklaces, ornaments made from Popsicle sticks and more Thanksgiving Turkeys made out of handprints, than anybody could possibly need. But also — just in case — I’ve kept them all!

Our attic is filled with computer monitors from the ‘90s, printers that no longer work, boxes that the old televisions came in and every book I’ve ever read because how can one possibly throw away books??!! Not to mention a Christmas tree we no longer use because the stand is broken and a bassinet that to this day we can’t figure out who it belongs to, both of which might come in handy at some point.

It’s enough to drive a good man crazy.

And, every year, it just about does!

Right about the time when he can’t take it anymore, my clutter-free husband will arrive home with large, black garbage bags. The garbage bags are large enough to fit a full-sized wife in, so I immediately catch his drift. He then demands that “the drawers be cleaned out, that the tubs be gone through and that everyone go through their closets because we are donating to Goodwill!”

Only to be driven more insane when we each return a limp, barely filled bag with a few scraps of paper and one pair of shoes that the dog chewed on.

He, on the other hand, has filled his garbage bag to the brim.

Thankfully, when he isn’t looking, I’ll go through his bag and save his stuff.

And then one day, when he is sitting in that audit, dressed in that purple tie that was always just a little too short and had a mustard stain on it, (the one I saved) and I bring out that faded receipt for the toaster, he will thank me!

Telling Tales is written by Wilson County’s Angel Kane and Becky Andrews. This column is Angel’s.

Telling Tales is written by Wilson County's Angel Kane and Becky Andrews. This column is Angel's.

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