Tuesday, February 22, 2011

Me vs. My Closet

Morning Readers,

     It's a really good thing that crimes against fashion aren't punishable by death. If so, I would've been dragged outside and shot aloooong time ago. It's not so much that I'm completely inept at putting an outfit together; it's quite the opposite really. Given enough time and unlimited supplies of money, I can put together a "Was that Coco Chanel that just walked by Marge? Because I swear it was" type of outfit. My big problem?....packratishness. In layman's terms, this breaks down to one's overwhelming urge to horde clothes, possessed since high school, while simultaneously harboring hopes that they will, once again, be able to stretch around an ever-expanding rear, not unlike our very own cosmos.

     It's embarrassing, so why bring it up? Well, besides that fact I enjoy a savory glass of self-deprecation early in the morning, I find myself in the position of doing the unthinkable, and cleaning out my pit of a a closet. Or rather, the 1960's style hole in the wall, archaic builders(operating under the delusion that women need only a pair of underwear, some Go Go boots and one gingham dress, to live)generously provided me with. One of my dear friends has taken it upon herself to help out her branch of womankind and organize a clothing swap. Genius idea really. Unfortunately, I'm in charge of the hard part.
     Unsure where to start exactly, I've taken the easiest approach and begun washing every item of clothing I own. I've done this out of hygenic concerns for anyone who may choose one of my garments, and to avoid any unnecessary embarassment caused by a total stranger pulling bits of teething cookie from the seams of their "new" pair of pants. Just in case, I've practiced the line "Here, I'll take that", followed by an innocent giggle, over and over.
     So far, I've got a few different piles going. And I'm here to tell you, no one, besides trapeze artists, should own as much spandex as I do. I'm its biggest proponent, but honestly, a trip back to Pant Land may be in order. And I don't mean the guilt-ridden pile next to the spandex. That's filled with jeans which, though well-meaning, manage to cause muffin top explosions, every time I pluck up the courage to suck my gut in, take a running start off an elevated surface, and jump feet-first into depression. Those are going. All of them. This summer will mark the great pant search of 2011. End of story.
     Pants and spandex aside, the rest of the sorting hasn't been terrible. The fact that I've been clinging desperately to a t-shirt that states "You turn me on" with my face inside a television screen, is completely beyond me, however. It quit being cute along time ago, and now does more to advertise the fact that I don't know where my local gym is. Anyone who knows me, may or may not be cringing at the prospect of seeing me and my knapsack of goodies, come Swap Day. My apologies, in advance.
     And now I must leave you. The buzzing, I just heard, announces that I've yet another load of unfortunate garments to pick through. Lucky me.

Until Next Time Readers!