I. Hate. Paper.


I mean it. I hate paper. Hate it, hate it, hate it. I am in the throes of paper hate. This intense hatred rolls around every few months when I have to delve into shredding paper again. You know–receipts, junk mail, catalog address labels–all that stuff that just can’t be thrown in the trash.

Receipts from April on a Mouse Pointy Tail Holder

So here I sit, shredding and shredding and shredding.

To make matters worse, I foolishly read an article the other day that said not to keep income tax return paperwork for more than three years. Three years? I have dust older than that. As a result of that read, what asinine move do I make? That’s right. I go to our filing cabinet and look to see how far back ours go.

Are you ready for this? 1991! Surely not! Okay. Take a deep breath and start up the shredder. Probably gonna need an industrial grade one for this little project.

I’m shredding the tax history away when what to my wondering eyes do appear? No, not a miniature sleigh nor eight tiny reindeer. A tax return from 1989! Then 1988! Could it be? Why yes–there’s 1987!

Dang. How did 24 years go by so fast?! My son was 12 and my daughter was only 8. I have grandgirls those ages now!

But I digress.

Back to the paper hate. I loathe it. I despise it. I abhor it. I detest it.

It is much more than a pet peeve–it is a constant thorn in my side. Make it go away!

They say the only two things that are certain in life are death and taxes. I say they have to add one more:

Paper to shred.

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