The first paper shredder I had was a simple machine and when it sputtered it’s last, I did not replace it because I was working where the compay shredded such a massive amount of paper that they farmed the job out and I just contributed my scant items to the collective.
However, once that job ended I spent countless hours cutting my name and address, Dear Ms. and all internal references to name, account, deal numbers and whatever personal information was contained in any piece of junk mail. The volume was enormous and I could hardly stay on top of this chore as stacks of uninvited scraps of mail piled up in my foyer.
Finally last week while I was in Walmart, I succumbed to the idea of another paper shredder. The little bugger was heavy considering it is no bigger than an office waste basket. I wrangled it into the house and out of its people proof box, set it up and in short order was in my glory feeding it as if it was a starving animal. Perhaps there was a silly grin on my face as the heap dwindled.
I do not consider myself a fickle female and it is with clarity I recall, after spending hours hand washing dinner dishes and cutlery and wine glasses that I was beyond joyous when I got a dishwasher installed and I felt like I regained my life. To have a couple of dozen coffee mugs and a clean pan to cook something in was my idea of happiness. It still is, but I have to say this paper shredder may just be my newest toy, but it is also a source of genuine happiness.
I must confess that while in the store, the corner of my eye was quickly focused on and dismissed the round dancer the diameter of a dinner plate and about three inches tall, a roomba, that self propels around the floor vacuuming all in its path.
ponderingalongthemilkyway 