Yesterday my mother made me commit a sin known to most people as "spring cleaning" I only refer to the woman that birthed me as “mother” instead of “mom” when I am extremely upset. So it’s safe for all of my fan club members and blog-readers out there to assume that I am at an all-time low right now.
It all started with clothes hangers. You’re probably wondering- how can something as banal and trivial as clothes hangers start such an avalanche of fashion tragedies? Either that or you’re wondering why you are still reading this blog when you could be doing something much more productive and interesting. Like having a lemonade stand or watching paint dry. But anyways, 30 seconds after I told my mother about my hanger problem, she marched up the stairs to my bedroom, peered into my walk-in closet, and declared that I had “too many clothes”. Now at first I thought she was joking. Too MANY clothes?! Is that a real thing? Does the average person get to the point where they feel the need to throw away some of their very valuable fashion pieces? As I started to laugh, mother dearest decided to inform me that she was, in fact, very serious about this situation and unless I cleared out the clothes I never wore, I would not be going shopping anymore. Needless to say, I was in shock.
There I stood amidst my beautiful clothes, wondering which of my fabric friends I would have to sacrifice first. At first it wasn’t too difficult. Of course the maroon sweater with the huge embroidered orange flowers could go- in fact, why was it still here? But as time went on, it only became more and more difficult.
You know those stories about people who get stranded on an island and start to hallucinate? Think along the lines of Cast Away. That was me. I was stuck in the sandy dunes of my clothing, and was starting to make up ridiculous excuses about why I needed to keep the things I was keeping. Obviously I couldn’t get rid of the V-neck lavender sweater- never mind that it’s three sizes too small! I wore that to my neighbor’s half-sister’s mailman’s third son’s bar mitzvah! Now by this point, I can feel the judgmental vibes oozing from the dry skin of all of you out there in cyberspace. You think I’m a crazy lunatic clothes-hoarder. And here’s what I learned about myself from this fateful day: I am! After hours of holding back the waterworks while stuffing my best friends into black garbage bags, my mother made me deliver them to Goodwill. She said it would be therapeutic but frankly it was just cruel.
Many tears and a tall cup of chamomile tea later, I came to the conclusion that I am a packrat in denial. I was literally and figuratively “in the closet” about my magpie-like tendencies. On the bright side, the only clothes I have left are the ones I might actually wear in the next 20 years. On the dull side, I now have a couple thousand empty hangers that hang there rattling like bones- the skeletons in my closet. On the even-duller-extremely-gloomy side, there’s probably a little twerp out there wiping her snot all over my lavender bar mitzvah sweater. Mazel tov.
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