Don't Judge Me by the Contents of my Cabinets

The very thought of organizing kitchen cabinets cripples me. Has done, every time I've moved, for eighteen years.

There are just so many options. Plates go here? Or there? Is ramen a soup or a noodle? Are all canned goods a single category, or should I put legumes on a different shelf? Should baking needs be low so you don't have to climb up for forgotten spices after you've added leavening, or high because -- let's face it -- you really don't bake all that often? And what if your husband is 5'3"? Would you rather put things where he can reach them, or have to get things for him all the time?

No matter how I set it up, there's always something I discover later that's just a little... off... but of course I never take note of what that off-thing is. Moving day rolls around, I open a box and shake the cabinets bare, then stand gape-mouthed and flabbergasted in the center of the new kitchen, wondering where in hell I ought to put my mugs.

Not this time.

This time, I have the advantage of moving from still-functional old cabinets into the brandy-new ones. This time, I can see what works and what does not, and plan accordingly. This time (I have a dream!), it will all make sense.

The one thing I knew right off is that the plates should go up adjacent to the stove. So that when you want to dish something, you don't have to run across the room to do it. Because my kitchen is so big it takes two whole steps to cross, and that can get damned exhausting, let me tell you.

But it isn't really my kitchen, is it? It's the AssVac's. So I guess I shouldn't have been surprised when Johnny announced that the only cabinet they could anchor entirely to wall-studs was the stand-alone one in the corner by the door. That the other ones were anchored partly to the drywall. Properly, of course, they'd probably hold just fine, but to be safe we should put the heaviest things in the corner. Like plates, for example.

Annoyed, yes. I think I had every right to be annoyed. But I'll allow as how I should not have been surprised.

So let's start moving things over, shall we?

This is what your china looks like when you are Destructo:


That's a short history of my adult life, right there. A few pieces from every pattern I've owned since I was 21.

In fact,you know what? Screw this cabinet project! Let's finish moving things later and have a POEM CONTEST now!

Tell me how many different dish-patterns are pictured in that stack, and I will write a little ditty with your name in it.

Here's a confusing hint: there are several possible right answers. So don't just give me a number, give me some semblance of a rundown. And yes, when I say "dish-pattern" I'm counting everything -- even the stainless steel, even if it isn't technically a pattern.

Unfortunately, though, I'm going to have to disqualify people who have actually eaten from any of them. Wouldn't be fair.

You know you've all been coveting my mis-match chic for years.


Oh, also, I would like to point out (because if I don't, I know somebody else will) that we do, actually, own a matching set of dishes. They're not super-fancy china or anything, but they are all the same color.

We keep them in the attic. Where Destructo can't get at them. Just in case we ever find ourselves spontaneously entertaining heads of state. Or else the Justice League.