Steve came home after a particularly long day at work. His students had final exams in one week, which meant a select few had taken residence in his classroom after school, attempting to learn everything they had neglected during the semester. He took his shoes off at the front door, wondering where his wife was since he saw her silver Volvo in the driveway.
“Hello? Peg?”
Her voice came from somewhere on the second floor, as she called back, “I’m upstairs.”
Steve grabbed himself a can of soda from the refrigerator and then went upstairs to find his wife. She was in their bedroom, sitting on the floor in front of their dresser where an entire drawer’s contents were on the ground. She stuck her arm into the drawer elbow deep, unearthing a balled up shirt that had wedged itself into the back corner.
“Hello darling,” she said. “How was your day?”
“Well, considering I taught some kids an entire semester’s worth of US history in two hours, not bad.”
“You’re good to do that for them. If it were me, I’d say you can learn it when you retake my class.”
Steve smirked and asked, “So, what’s going on here?”
“This - “ Peggy began, gesturing at the pile of clothes. “Is all Pepper’s fault.”
“Oh sure,” Steve answered reasonably.
“We had lunch today and she was telling me about this Marie Kondo woman. Apparently she is the queen of tidying up, or some nonsense like that. Anyway, Pepper was going on and on about her folding method and how it’s life changing.” Peggy rolled her eyes, clearing indicating her feelings on that sentiment. “I think it’s a load of crock, but Pepper insisted I try it. So, here I am."
“What exactly is this new folding method?”
“Well, it’s very scientific. You fold everything in threes.”
“That’s all?”
“Not entirely,” she admitted. “You then put everything upright into the drawer so that there is no stacking. I think it’ll be an utter disaster, but, we’ll see.”
“Only one way to find out,” he said, sitting on the bed. “You know, I’m actually sort of invested in this.”
She smiled back at him and said, “We need to get you some hobbies.”
“I have hobbies! Bucky and I just started that softball team.”
“Oh yes, what are you called again? The Ice Cold Pitchers?”
While she wasn’t looking at him, Steve could tell she was holding back laughter by the curve of her cheek.
“That name is all on Sam. I had nothing to do with it.”
“Darling, let’s be fair, your choice would not have been much better. Need I remind you of the Howling Commandos?”
“That was more Dugan than me,” Steve argued. They came up with the name one night after several pints of beer. It was a good thing alcohol didn’t affect him then, because he doubted anyone else would have remembered in the morning. “And the Howling Commandos is a great name.”
Peggy had finished folding her clothes and had begun putting them into the drawer. When she placed the last folded shirt into the drawer, she looked at her handiwork and said, “Damn it.”
“What is it?”
“It worked."
Steve stood and looked at the drawer. What had previously been a mangled mess of clothes was now a tidy line of folded shirts, each of them visible and easily accessible, with nearly half of the drawer left empty.
“Well, now I have no choice,” Peggy said. She proceeded to stand and open each of the drawers, pulling out armfuls of clothes and depositing them on the ground. When Steve asked her what she was doing, she said, “I can’t have one good drawer and then all of these. Besides, we can do some culling. Like, look at this...” she held up a ratty white undershirt, “...you have quite literally had this shirt since the 1940s.”
“It’s a memento.”
“According to Pepper, if an item doesn’t spark joy, you let it go. Does this shirt spark joy?”
Steve narrowed his eyes and said, “It’s a shirt. How does it spark joy?”
Peggy looked down at the piece of clothing in her hand, considering what her husband said, and after a moment, returned with, “You’re right. That is a remarkably stupid rule. Alright, new rule. If it hasn’t been worn in a year it goes. Come on, you can help.”
Steve sat back down on the bed, thinking of the half-finished book downstairs that he had planned on reading, and said, “I think you should have less lunches with Pepper.”
