Thinking inside the box

Until today, I was vexed by boxes.

It’s Friday. Iron Pints day. BYOwhatever. Many whatevers come in glass bottles. Mine did.

I wanted to take two bottles of Victorian lemonade in my backpack and ride to The Iron Yard without breaking them and having my tush smell like lemons from the late 1800s. As I packed the bottles in my lunch bag, I had my first ah-ha moment. No. I didn’t. I never say “ah ha”. I don’t say “ah-ha”, “alas”, or “shan’t” because I do not live in the Regency Era. 

What I had was a “Well, slap my ass and call me Velma” moment.

I wrapped the bottles in a cloth napkin and placed them in my insulated lunch bag, and then I saw it. My bottles are the content; the napkins are the margins; the lunch bag’s insulation is the padding, and the decorative outer layer is the border. 

Egads, what I couldn’t see for the life of me, I now see everywhere:

Four siblings of the Inline-Blockheads are sitting on a couch. The couch has cushions (padding). Each child has their own personal space (margins), skin (border), and layer of chub (padding), that keeps their guts, meat, and bones (content) neatly contained. All of those affects the size of the couch needed in their living room. As they eat, age, grow, their contents and own padding changes. They still have the need for personal space, so the couch in the living room gets swapped out for something bigger. Of course, this analogy isn’t perfect, but it doesn’t need to be. Its only requirement is to help me understand. 

I hope that I get over this soon. I’d like to put on a bra without thinking about the padding and contents.

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