MY WIFE IS A CRAZY HOARDER!!
It’s insane. We have six kids, and I work like a dog to keep this family afloat. But my wife? She keeps dragging home random junk!
At first, it was small things—purses, silverware, knickknacks. Five bucks here, ten bucks there. Whatever. I let it slide. But then, it turned into a full-time joke. Our garage is packed, the basement looks like a thrift store exploded, and now she’s moving on to **furniture**.
Yesterday was the final straw. She called me while I was at work. **“Babe, can you come help me? I found something amazing!”**
I sighed. **“What is it this time?”**
**“A couch!”**
I almost dropped my phone. **“You’re kidding.”**
**“It just needs a little paint!”**
**“PAINT?! It’s a couch, not a dresser!”**
By the time I got home, there it was—some ancient, beat-up sofa sitting in the driveway like it had been dragged straight out of a haunted house. And the kicker? She **paid a hundred bucks for it**.
We argued. I was losing my mind, and she kept chirping about how it was a “great find.” I literally laughed in her face. **“What’s next? A broken fridge? A haunted rocking chair?!”**
Then, out of nowhere, Scout—our usually chill golden retriever—**went nuts**. He started barking at one of the cushions, growling, pawing at it like there was a damn ghost inside.
My stomach twisted. Scout never acted like that.
I hesitated, then knelt down, running my hand over the cushion. My fingers brushed against something… hard. My heart pounded. There was a **zipper**.
I pulled it open.
**OH GOD. I FROZE.**
Inside the cushion was **a thick envelope stuffed with cash**. **Thousands**. Maybe tens of thousands. My hands shook as I yanked out a bundle of bills, my brain short-circuiting.
My wife peeked over my shoulder. **“…Told you it was a great find.”**
