Jars.

Glass jars give me a very strange yet comfortable satisfaction. I buy certain jams, sauces or pickles based on the jar... and cannot wait for it to be emptied.

I use them to store opened bags of nuts, brown sugar, and other miscellaneous pantry items.

Well. The ante was recently, as they say, upped.

I got a label maker. I call him Label Baby. (who gets the reference? Winner gets a free label, to label him/herself as the winner of course.) The satisfaction has gone from just comfortable to nearly blissful.




















And really, the story as to acquiring the Label Baby is quite sweet. I wanted one for years. I craved one. But my dear Mark would nay-say, knowing me so well, knowing I'd go bonkers labeling needlessly. But, being the dear love he is... he caved and gave me the Label Baby! Label me excited. I actually didn't even open it for weeks, waiting to allow myself the enjoyment. Well it's been open for awhile now, and it [labeling] hasn't stopped. Nothing is safe.

Is this strange? Readers, be honest. Any guesses into my psyche ?