I think that USED to be edible...

Every few months I like to clean out my closet, you know, just to get rid of all the excess silliness that shouldn't be in there: little broken buttons, chocolate shavings (like the kind that inevitably sink to the bottom of every female purse in America), giant and embarrassing hairballs (because I hate vacuuming, and so should you), that pulsating thing that maybe/possibly/likely used to be an apple, and all the clothing that has somehow been absorbed into my drawers despite not belonging to me (that's right, green sequined vest: you aren't mine). But though I love the catharsis of cleaning, my favorite part of going through my closet is finding all of the things I've collected over the years, but have been too sentimental to throw out.
Now, I throw out just about everything. I throw out dvd cases and cracked picture frames and even that ceramic cougar I got once for Christmas from a distant relative who clearly didn't understand 12-year-old girls, but I never throw out anything that carries meaning-- no matter how insignificant. I keep notes and Christmas cards and pictures and letters-- especially love letters, buttons and papers and tickets and pieces of string. And all of them, as you'll soon discover, mean something.

What you'll find in Sally's Keepsake Drawer:
1. A Valentine's Day card from Freshman year of high school.
It's just about the size of your palm if your palm is girl-sized. The pink lace that edges the top and bottom has faded a little with age, and the magenta construction paper heart is glue-sticked to the front of the card, proudly off-center and tilted leftward enough to reveal the maker's overzealous on-sticking. Yes, its appearance is adorable. But the reason I kept it is for the precious, precious message within:
"Dear Sally, your so hott, I have to put on sunscreen to get close to you."
Oh, the romance of it all. If it weren't so lovingly constructed out of layers of pink paper, I may have made fun of Omar, the Turkish-American tenth-grader, for his unacceptable grammatical error and general lack of woo-ing prowess, but I've kept this damn card for five years, and it never fails to make me smile.

2. Pillsbury Dough Boy Pajama Pants
All right, I lied: they're not in my Keepsake Drawer. I may or may not be wearing them right now. I'm rather proud of them, actually. The summer after high school I had just broken up with that one boyfriend we all have: the one that lasts for much too long. I was simply in no mood to be hit on by a marine. Yet, he caught my attention with his giant marine-y muscles and fantastic arcade game skills. And I, interestingly enough, caught his attention, though on our first evening together I made him wear a sticker on his forehead that said "I am a dumbass" because my cousins and I beat him at Cranium. I wouldn't date that cocky teenager, but apparently arrogance tickled his fancy! So he got me, kissed me during Ella Enchanted. When I was all caught off guard by music and fanciful tales of romantic glee. Clever bastard. And I gave in, enjoyed myself in our summer fling, and spent enough time with him that he revealed to me his love of all things Nicholas Sparks (specifically, The Notebook), which I'll never know was actual fandom or simply a lie that he hoped would get me to swoon. And of course, it didn't, but it was worth a shot. What REALLY got me to like him was his excellent taste in fast food. Florida fries find their führer in Checkers. Ah, Checkers: your burgers are mediocre, but your fries taste like tiny tubulur donuts. He took me swing dancing, bowling, roller coaster-ing, and driving-- always something with an -ing. This young man was probably my only exception to the monogamy pattern. I knew I would be leaving in a month, but just sort of rode out the wave and waited for our story to end. Which, of course it did.
One afternoon, we were playing video games when he turned to me and said, "Sally, I have to tell you something." I feigned seriousness and replied gravely, "Dear God. Do you have a child?" I laughed. He didn't. Dear God. But before my eyes could actually consume my face with their wideness, he stopped me and whispered, "No, but it's almost as bad. I'm married. Well, I mean, we're separated. She's in Austraila. But, technically, I'm, you know..." and he trailed off into what I imagine was some poorly put together excuse about how dating random teenagers is totally okay in their marriage. And when I managed to actually emerge from shock, I of course informed him that I was "f'sho not kosher with this whole other-woman thing," and he accepted my farewell, and then politely asked what was bulging out from under my tank top. We had since left his house, you see, and I had taken with me a trophy: awesome pants to remember my summer by. I said, "That's your unborn child" and his sheepish grin told me that I had achieved my goal: the pants were mine. And now, whenever I poke my Pillsbury dough boy shin and giggle "hmm-hmm!" I think of Mr. Marine, graciously ignoring my sentimental kleptomania.

3. A tiny piece of plastic ripped from a mint-condition Jar-Jar Binks action figure
First of all, I can't believe I've already mentioned Jar-Jar Binks twice in this blog. Anyway, freshman year of high school, I had just moved to Turkey. I lived in a three-story apartment building guarded by ever-changing but always gruff-looking Turks who constantly sipped tea and played backgammon. My windows had bars on them but I always felt like they were for keeping me in. Luckily, they didn't do so well. Two floors above me lived a gorgeous sophomore-- ah yes, an older man. At first, I went up to his house to borrow his computer (since mine hadn't come yet), then I graduated to less legitmate excuses as I began to notice his frequent habit of answering the door in nothing but a towel (evidently, he was in a perpetual state of just having showered). "Hi. I just came up to borrow... uh... (some cinammon/ a straw/ three chocolate chips that all have to look like Nixon)" and he'd let me in. And soon the visits became steadily longer, and we began to date. It went pleasantly enough, until three weeks later when he broke up with me. "Basketball season is starting, and... I just can't have any distractions." Freshman Sally, who couldn't possibly stop to think about how ridiculous this boy was, felt crushed.
Days passed where we walked to the bus together, not talking, or occassionally mentioning something about the sidewalk or sky. I'd open the door for him on our way back into the building and say something that I found clever but what was actually awkward, like "Enter if you dare, good sir!" And he'd shift his eyes and pounce in, never turning back to thank still-standing-there Freshman Sally. But I of course still loved his bouncing brown curls and kind eyes, so when his parents asked her to cat-sit, I jumped up at the chance.
I spent hours at his house-- using the computer, watching tv where I could be alone away from the teenage hell of parents, until I finally couldn't help myself. I went into his room. I didn't do anything too terrible, but I did snoop in his closets. Just a little. I found nothing of interest, save for a trunk full of Star Wars memorabilia. I chuckled. And as quickly as I had opened it, I decided that I would do the unthinkable: steal one of his prized action figures.
I kept that sucker in my closet for three years. It wasn't until he was going off to college that I suddenly remembered its existence and returned it to him. That wasn't awkward at all. Luckily he didn't notice the tiny piece of plastic that I cut off of the box to remind myself of this precious tidbit of wisdom: it's never nice it to jack something from inside your ex's nerd trunk.

4. A pink plastic condom hat
But I guess that story is for another time-- I'm sleepy and like ambiguous cliff-hangers :)