I have a theory that every home has a junk drawer, even the homes belonging to people who claim to be extremely organized. Especially those people, actually. They probably just call it something respectable, like the utility drawer.

Personally, I think a junk drawer is one of the most important parts of a household. Where else are you supposed to keep a key that opens absolutely nothing, a charger belonging to a phone you owned in 2014, and seven batteries that may or may not work?

And why is there always a single playing card in there? What happened to the other fifty-one?

I’ve always been rather fond of junk drawers. The proper kind, where you have to wiggle the handle a little because something inside is preventing it from opening.

There’s usually a pen that hasn’t worked in years, and for some reason, nobody has bothered to throw it away. I also have a habit of keeping spare buttons from clothes I no longer own, which makes absolutely no sense, but I can’t seem to help myself.

The funny thing about junk drawers is that they seem to refill themselves. You can spend an entire afternoon cleaning one out, feeling terribly accomplished afterward, only to discover three weeks later that it’s somehow returned to its original condition.

Nobody knows how this happens. I suspect the drawer has something to do with it.

And have you seen those perfectly organized kitchen drawers on Pinterest? They’re beautiful, of course, but I always wonder what those people do when they find a mysterious screw on the kitchen counter.

Surely they don’t throw it away. What if it’s holding the entire house together?

I think every home deserves at least one drawer where things don’t have to make sense. Besides, every so often, someone needs a safety pin, a rubber band, or a tiny screwdriver, and suddenly you’re the most resourceful person in the house.

Of course, you’ll have to dig through seventeen completely unrelated objects to find it, but that’s beside the point.

So here’s to the humble junk drawer. May it always close properly, may its batteries occasionally work, and may we someday discover what that mysterious key actually opens.

Autumn

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