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Betty Paginated #36 Preview: R.I.P. My Beer Bottle/Can Collection

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IN EARLY January, Helen and I discussed the fact that we lacked Lebensraum in our house due to our growing family and, more importantly, our growing amount of STUFF. While the idea of building an extension to the house is a long-term plan, in the short-term we talked about buying more bookcases for the back room to house an ever-expanding collection of Geronimo Stilton and Garfield books, free CDs from work and kids’ trophies.
Out of the blue, I said, “Why don’t I clear away the beer bottles on those shelves near the bar? That’ll add some extra storage space.”
Now, this was a momentous decision on my part and I’m surprised I made the call so quickly. I had been collecting bottles and cans ever since we first moved into our present home 10 years ago. Every new exotic overseas beer or quirky local brand that I drank at home found a place on the shelves left by the previous owners (and the extra shelf I added a year after we moved in).
They were a source of quiet pride to me and some bemusement to people who came to visit, like Jonesy’s Muslim friend.
Anyway, I announced my intention and Helen, a little surprised, agreed.
I spent the next hour humping hundreds of bottles and cans to our recycling bin and I felt surprisingly alright on an emotional level about dumping 10 years of boozy history.
I just didn’t expect my six-year-old son Dash to take it so hard. He’s a lot like me and hates change, so this radical move on my part knocked him for a loop
Dash was very upset – he kept trying to block me from taking bucket after bucket of empties to the bin. He even sprayed me with the water hose and kept shouting, “You can’t pass me till you say the password!”
To which I replied, “The password is ‘You won’t get any more screen-time today unless you let me pass.’”
Since then, Helen’s told me that Dash reckons we need to drink exactly the same beers and replace the bottles.
Ain’t gonna happen, lil’ dude.

Daddy’s grown up…or something like that (but I aint’ getting rid of my comics or wrestling dollies, Helen. Okay?)



Three empty shelves are ready to be cleaned, then filled up with CDs and kids’ trophies

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