It’s in the eyes.

This is a story about Kramer.

Yup, that Kramer.

This portrait of the ‘loathsome offensive brute’ lived in the Husband’s old student house. He and his 4 roommates loved it. Loved it a little too much, perhaps. I don’t like to think of myself as being overly controlling of the decor choices in our home. In fact, I make very few choices without input from the Husband. But Kramer? Nuh uh. No way. No matter how much the Husband might like the print. 
I suggested he hang it in our bedroom. At the back of his side of the closet.
(Seriously. Those eyes. They follow you everywhere.)
When we moved into the house, Kramer moved into the garage along with our overflow of stuff that didn’t fit in the house: crates of books, camping gear, Christmas decorations, etc. etc. It was all a mess, taking over. There was no space to walk, let alone pile any more stuff. I guess the Husband must have felt bad about the treatment Kramer was getting. On the weekend, he pulled everything out, piled it all in organized piles on the back patio, sorted everything into keep, garbage, recycle, and use categories and then put most of it back in. 
Suddenly, our garage has space!
Tools are accessible, the work benches on both sides is usable and there’s still stacking space at the very back. I got a gardening bench, organized and ready to use:

And finally, as the day and the task began to end, the Husband picked up poor, neglected Cosmo Kramer, now liberated from the piles of unworthy junk, and hammered him to the wall in a place of honour.

Or something like that.

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