Every year, being the holiday lover she is, she buys more decor. Every year, we have less space. Eventually, a man has to choose: the wife, or the garage.

I chose the garage. (Kidding. Mostly.)

Four bigger houses and one very confused U-Haul guy later, turns out you don’t actually have to choose — you just have to stop being the one hauling bins to a storage unit like it’s 1997. I still wanted to keep my wife. I also wanted my space back. I did not want to rent a unit twenty minutes away and load a truck twice a year like some kind of seasonal pack mule.

So I built the thing that solved my problem.

Turns out it’s everyone else’s problem too.

— we’re not marriage counselors, but we play one in your driveway