When I moved into my condo, a friend came over and helped me organize my kitchen. Proven fact: I have no skills in this area and I have tried to maintain her organizational structure ever since. She talked me into a few things that didn’t make sense at the time – like where the plates and pans should be (not together) – it took me a while, but she was right. Anyway, there were two items that we did agreed on, the placement of the wine glasses and the hard alcohol. They were both accessible and yet a little out of the way. A girl doesn’t need alcohol every day, but when I want it, I know where it is.
After few months of living in my new place, I got a roommate. My new roommate was cute and petite and had such tiny feet that I refused to let her leave her shoes in the entrance way because they made my shoes look like a giant was going to stride in and claim them as his own. The thing about my cute, petite roommate is that she couldn’t reach the wine glasses, or the alcohol. I said this kept her from drinking my hard alcohol. She said I didn’t trust her with my wine glasses – or wine for that matter. Either way, she frequently had me reach things for her on the higher shelves rather than pull out the step stool.
Ironically, the step stool was mine. I purchased it two years before when I lived in the apartment that had kitchen shelves meant for giants and a shower head meant for a dwarf. I loved those kitchen cabinets with their awkward height that even I was forced to get a step stool. At the store, the cashier had laughed at me as I struggled to flatten the damn thing after she rang me up. In a fit of frustration I looked down at her and said, “You’re laughing at me? I’m 6′ tall, just how step stools do you think I’ve used in my life? Let alone purchased. The least you could do is offer some advice.”
She looked up and me, stopped laughing, and came around to help me with the tricky clasp.
That tricky clasp was why my old roommate found it easier to ask me to reach stuff rather than get the step stool out herself. More than once I came home to find her on the counters trying to reach something on a higher shelf. And by “something” I mean wine glass. Everything else we had rearranged somewhat so her stuff was on all the lower shelves. The only thing left were the glasses, and only because there was no room at lower levels. I think she just liked to check to see what I had going on as if I kept secret access to pony rides, parties, and celebrations on the top shelves. Maybe she was looking for chocolate. Or maybe, all she wanted was a hassle-free glass of wine in a real wine glass after a long day at work.
Whatever it was, I hope that in her current house where she lives across the country, she can reach all the shelves and all the glasses. As for me? Someday I’ll have the need for that step stool again. And if not, I’ll give it to someone who does.