Neat, orderly, and clean. Row upon row of plastic storage containers seem to exude an air of calm, a sense that everything is right in the world – everything has its place. If only I could transfer this to my house, my life. Perhaps these thoughts are why I find myself drawn to this aisle whenever I set foot in Target – I scan the various shapes of bins and make a mental list of what I could fit in them. Maybe this behavior isn't healthy, but on the few occasions that my need for order doesn't drive my mother crazy, she actually likes it.
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All I want is the boat pump, the little contraption used to rid the paddleboat of rainwater. I know it would be faster just to use a bucket to bail the water out, but I'm in no hurry and it has to be in the boathouse somewhere.
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