Every Last Drop
Josh likes to tell people that I talk about waste in the same way that other people talk about murder. I waste nothing. I do not even waste the 30 seconds as a meal heats up in the microwave. I use that time to put away measuring cups from the drying rack. I do not waste food. I don’t always eat it myself, but if you stare at Josh long enough, he will make a meal out of the remaining three bites from fifteen lingering Tupperware containers. I don’t even waste receipts. I use them as bookmarks.
So I just want to explain the eighty-five open bottles of dish soap, the thirty-one open bottles of shampoo, and the small army of almost-empty hair gel bottles parading across the front of our bathroom cabinet.
They’re all because I waste nothing.
Because I plan to cut open the top of the hair gel container and scoop out the last precious drop with the tip of my finger before I recycle the container. But the scissors are downstairs and the hair gel container is upstairs. So I place the almost-empty container in the cabinet and open a new bottle because my hand hurts from trying to squeeze something out of the almost-empty container. And the next morning, I grab the new bottle because the scissors are still downstairs and therefore too far away if I want to cut open the old bottle. The cycle continues.
The same thing happens with the dish soap. When we get towards the bottom of a container, I generally flip it upside down so the contents gather in the top and come out easier. But I can’t do that with the dish soap because the soap tends to leak out the top of the container. So when it gets close to the end, I tell myself that I’m going to dedicate an evening to standing in the kitchen, holding the bottle upside down over the sponge so it fills with that soapy goodness. But that doesn’t happen. Opening a new bottle on the other hand, does.
Actually, it does happen — all the old stuff eventually gets used — but it’s not before I’ve amassed a giant collection of mostly used bottles.
I’ll admit it — it is really annoying to live with me.
(But I bake cookies.)