Pack Rat Day

I have to admit, I am a pack rat. I have come from a long line of pack rats. It is genetic, I cannot help it. I am working toward recovery, however. The flood in my basement last fall relieved me of some of my childhood junk. Having children has also helped. Do I really want/need every scrap of paper that my children have scribbled on? Will I be able to sell them someday on E-Bay, become a millionaire and move to a mansion high on a hill overlooking the ocean, a mansion Scott Ingalls would give up his [dirty sexy] truck for? Doubtful. I have a new motto when it comes to cleaning up the clutter. Do I want the people cleaning out my house after I die to find this? (FYI/TMI: I came up with this motto while cleaning out my underwear drawer recently.) It applies to many things...torn bloomers, old love letters, salad dressing from 2001. Despite all this, I still have no motto strong enough to make me part with my before-braces dental impressions. Sometimes breaking up is just too hard to do.

PS. No, I do not keep salad dressing (of any vintage) in my underwear drawer.