When I grow up, I will live in a moderate space. It will be mostly empty. When I walk through the house, I will glide blissfully unhindered by stuff threatening to injure my toes. My kitchen will be enormous with a dozen or so cabinets where all my dishes, pots, pans, and tupperware will reside comfortably. They will have room to breathe. When I look for tupperware, I will not swear and thrash about. The only items to live on the counter will have earned their place by everyday use. I will have an actual pantry in which I will put healthy food. The laundry room will have an efficient set of machines, stacked, and there will be a folding table with hangers awaiting the clothes fresh out of the dryer. No corners will jut to impale my temples when transferring the clothes. There will be space for the drying rack. My couches will be only for sitting. Bathtubs will be for bathing. I will have burned whatever this trinkety crap is that sits around occupying my space. Actually that’s going to happen in about five minutes. Is Zoe’s scooter ACTUALLY on the loveseat?