The handle came off the kettle this morning:
My husband said, “Maybe this would be a good time to get that electric kettle we’ve been talking about [for the last several years, on account of electric kettles are more efficient, I’ve heard.]”
“Sure,” I said. “But I think I’ve got a handle that will do the job around here somewhere.”
And I did:
The reason that I had this spare handle is that when I put new handles on my dresser, I accidentally ordered two extra. The rest of them are being used thus:
So I showed it to my husband, said, “Ooooh, ahhh… isn’t it pretty? Now it matches my dresser.”
There was a moment of self-congratulation on my resourcefulness, and the fact that I had managed to put my hands on the spare knob, on account of it’s been sitting on top of my dresser for the last several years while I figured out what to do with it. And then I sighed. “You know that this is going to make things worse, right? Because now every time I try to get rid of something, my mind will throw this at me: Oh, but what about that knob? That turned out to be useful eventually. Better hold onto it, just in case.”
But it really does look nice on the kettle.