In my mind, there are two types of people in the world: those who are going to look at the following picture and outwardly covet exactly what it represents, and those who are going to look at the following picture and outwardly roll their eyes but secretly covet exactly what it represents.
Behold, my new spice drawer. Situated next to the oven. So that you can simply pull out a drawer and find exactly what you are looking for among the neatly labeled, soothing array of jam jars. (I looked up “turmeric” in the Canadian Oxford Dictionary just now, momentarily insecure about that second R, but it’s there. Thankfully — or I would have had to make a new label.)
I was born this way.
I simply cannot fathom a world or a person who would look at that drawer and not be struck by its inherent beauty and rightness, by its desirability. I know they exist but they are not my people. My people sharpened all their Laurentian lead pencil crayons and lined them up in numerical order weeks before third grade started. My people have whiteboards to tell them what, exactly, is in the downstairs freezer. My people not only alphabetize their CDs, but also enjoy the process and engage in it on weekend afternoons when they could, conceivably, be “relaxing,” because they find that kind of thing relaxing. MY PEOPLE MAKE LABELS.
Late at night, right before going to bed, I will sneak into the kitchen and open this drawer, and it will touch my soul. If I am sad, it will cheer me up. And if I am happy, it will be the cherry on top.