Bottle Minister

A sizable chunk of my time today was spent as a bottle minister. I bring lonely bottles together and marry them. Can't have those empty singles over-populating the fridge or bathroom shelf, can we? We have a shampoo mixer in the shower and voilà, two become one. 

What I can't figure out is why I'm the only minister around. Why are there always hosts of bottles with smidgens of this or dollops of that ghosting around the fridge making bad puns and spilling things on other nice, full bottles? 

Surely someday I'll open the fridge to find that the nearly empty ketchup bottle will have gotten busy with the two month old petrified potato and begun a new civilization of rather virulent phage-carrying mutants. They'll be joined by the black, fuzzy-hatted goop in the mason jar which always hangs out in the back on the middle shelf where it foments plans to take over the fridge with the green- scabbed swiss cheese.

Someday these rebels will ooze from the fridge and take up positions around the house (having become quite sentient). They'll arm themselves with button-launchers made with paper clips and wait for us as we come in. There will be nothing we can do as they hold all the cards: phage, weapons, the high ground, and, of course surprise.

And all because I'm the only one who thinks to round up those lonely smidgen-bottles and marry them to the slightly fuller ones.