The Little Box of Horrors

I have a few bins of crap - I mean precious treasures - that my mom has saved since I was born. A few years ago, my mom gave me the bins. She said that she thought that maybe I'd enjoy going through them with my kids and seeing the "time capsule" of my life. I was like, "Yeah, maybe" and then I shoved them in the back room of my basement and piled a ton of crap in front of them.

This weekend Adolpha and I were cleaning out the back room when she spotted the bins. "Are you ever going to open those and see what's in there?" she asked.

Adolpha is our family historian. She is the one who cares about making memories and preserving them. She is the one who wants to make things special and glittery. She was positive that those bins held treasures from my childhood that would be ah-may-zing.

Normally, I growl and tell her no, but I was feeling generous and bit sentimental myself. After all, Gomer's eleven now and he could care less about spending any time with me. Adolpha's nine, so I know my time with her is just about up, so I said, "Fine. Let's see what's in there."

I grabbed the closest bin and pulled it out into the well-lit room so we could really admire all of my treasures. I opened the lid and was immediately greeted by this: