Both my parents grew up in the Depression and carried all the baggage of frugality that went along with that. If you’re my age and grew up in the U.S. you’re probably also familiar with reused plastic bags from bread loafs drying by the sink, getting ready to be packed with lunches and then brought back and washed and reused again. The twist ties were saved in the cutlery drawer. My father would pick up usable nails if he saw them on the street and bring them back to his workbench. My mother, beaming, would present us with a penny she had found on a dog walk. “You can put it in your piggy bank!”

I feel the need to tell you about my elementary school lunches.

Because I was talking to my friend today, about the evolution of vegan cheese, and alternative meat substances, because we were in Downward Dog, and all the blood was rushing to our heads.

This is a very West Los Angeles situation I’m describing.

Step-by-Step Instructions:

A. Remove from packaging. Chances are you can skip this step. Dustpans are one of those special objects that are not bound by packaging. They come as they are. So you can skip to step B.

Pro: They look pretty from certain angles.
Con: No one can agree on which angles.

No particle of dust would dare occasion to life and every speck of fingernail dirt is manicured to death in those matrimonial homes where attention to detail is a time-honored virtue and everything smells of the same multipurpose detergent, like bedsheets in sad hotels. Those houses are policed by unimpressed Virgos who massage their furniture with spit and wash their mopheads as frequently as their hair. If living inside a toothpaste tube were a social norm, those homeowners would be the forebearers of an all-white nation.