Dear Sons and Daughters

My aunt and uncle accepted an offer on the house that they have lived in for over 20 years. The family emails over the past few days have been filled with sadness, memories, and excitement over the impending move. Most of all, we have discussed the various possibilities of what will be found when the attic is cleaned out. I felt it my duty to warn their three daughters of what was to come.

You see, when you are of a certain age (that is, out of college and on your own) you are utterly screwed if your parents decide to move. "Why?" you ask. Ask that to my sister's basement, or my precious little closet space, or MY BOOKSHELF. Parents feel that it is no longer their duty to store your childhood books, toys, stuffed animals, furniture, MEMORIES... Instead they call you and say, "Honey, I've decided to move. I need you to drive into town to pick up all your stuff." And then you end up with bags and bags of things. Things like that clip of your bunny's fur that you cut off of him when you were 13 because you thought it would be a good item to put in your time capsule...along with your baby teeth (oh yes, my mom kept (and subsequently made me take) my BABY TEETH). As a result, my bedroom, the bedroom of a 25 year old, looks like a grade schoolers room. The only thing that grows it up a bit is the queen size bed. If I still had a twin, I would have to paste Teen Bop cut outs of Mark Paul-Gosselaar, Kirk Cameron, and Joey McIntyre on my walls because it would be THAT bad. My bookshelf is full of Care Bears, Cabbage Patch Kids, Beanie Baby's, Hug-a-Bunch, and various Disney stuffed animals. "Karyn, why don't you put them in a bag and stuff them under your bed?" Well, (1) under the bed is full, and (2) I'll let an email from my sister explain:

"Currently, the bed in the guest room here is covered with Cabbage Patch Kids....I can't put them in bags, they'll suffocate!"