I went to the ‘snacks’ cupboard at our office today. I work with my Mum, we share an office. I knew I was pretty much out of appropriate snacks and was going to pinch some of the plain Kettle chips she had rolling around in there and say nothing more about it. Reaching for them, I drew the packet almost soundlessly from the cupboard. Bypassing my almonds and rice crackers, craving the salt. Placing them on the desk, I attempt to open them. But they won’t budge. They are open, but not. They’ve been stapled shut.

She’s a total wake up to me. My Mother. Well played, lady, well-played.

My family, we love staples. Staplers. The act of stapling. I hem pants with staples. Have done for almost my entire ‘adult’ life. The odd skirt too, but I find that the staples can loosen up and scratch you on the thigh with skirts. So not always the best option. I’ve stapled work blouses shut when they gap at that stupidly place middle boob button. I staple money to notes on where to spend it. I staple papers together like no ones business {who knew, its for PAPER! Gasp}. And I’ve even been known to staple the laces of my shoes to stop them fraying. A short-term solution, but a solution none the less.

Is it any wonder really that my Mother staples her chips? Apparently stapling, it’s genetic.

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