For weeks I’ve been telling myself I gotta get organized. Then, just a couple of hours ago I was rummaging in my closet for my white jeans. They had to be here somewhere.
“Why don’t you organize that closet?” the smart side of my brain asks. I don’t know if it’s the right side or the left side. It’s the practical side that always asks the right questions.
“Why don’t you shut up?” I ask, shunting another hanger aside. I’m hot and I’m tired and in no mood for snark.
“Hey, if you like wasting time doing that every day, that’s okay with me. If you’re happy, I’m happy.”
“Okay, fine!” I snarl and toss a handful of clothes on the bed. “I’ll organize the damn thing.” I grab another stack of clothes and throw them after the first lot.
After a few more tosses, I notice the stack of clothes starts to heave. Good heavens — I haven’t looked in the back of my closet for a long time, but I’m reasonably certain that there ‘s nothing growing in there. A moment later, the whole mess slips to the floor, uncovering my cat Blackjack who is NOT pleased. He jumps to the floor, gives me a look, and with a flick of his tail (he doesn’t have fingers) stalks away. Sorry, Blackjack.
Okay, not only am I frustrated and annoyed, but now I’ve pissed off the cat. Fine. I turn back to the task at hand, pick up the 5th red top and hang it next to the others.
“Gee, you think you got enough red blouses?”
“It’s not that many, and besides, it’s not my fault. I see something, I fall in love, I buy it and bring it home and find that I have two others that are almost identical.” (I do the same thing with nail polish. 13 bottles of nail polish — all the same color.) I yank another red blouse from the pile, and uncover — “Hey, what’s this?” I hold up a pair of pedal pushers. “I’ve never seen these before in my life.” I figure I must’ve got them at the thrift store or maybe Jean left them here when she was visiting. Sorry Jean. I hang them up with the pants.
I realize the pants are scrunched together and need to be moved to the other side of the closet. Trouble is, they’re long, and if I move them over there, they’ll be hanging into the clothes basket. So now I have to move the basket to the other side where the pants were, but will no longer be. And there’s stuff on the floor I have to move out of the way.
“So what’s IS all that stuff on the floor?” my brain asks.
“Stuff,” I say. “Bags mostly it looks like.”
“Plastic bags? Like from the market?”
“No, special bags from the department stores like this one.” I pick up a large plastic bag from Macy’s. It has handles. I can use it some day for something. And here’s one from Saks Fifth Avenue. When was the last time I shopped at Saks? How many years has this been here??
Then, “Hey, this one has clothes in it.” I pull out a silky nightgown. “Ooh, I remember this. Why is it in a bag?”
“The bag that goes to the thrift store?”
“Wasn’t that the nightie with the straps that wouldn’t stay put and you’d wake up at 3 in the morning thinking you were being strangled?”
“Oh, right.” I drop the nightie back in the bag and paw through wondering why I’ve gotten rid of all these great clothes, but in the end realize I had a reason at one time, toss that bag aside and continue digging.
“Oh, my BOOTS! I love these boots!” I pick up my burgundy high-heeled soft leather knee-high boots. “Oh, and here are the orange ones! I’ll bet they still fit.” I sit on the floor and pull on the first boot. “It’s a little snug.” I work on the zipper which has stopped at mid-calf. “I wonder if feet and legs get bigger with age.”
“They get bigger with fat.”
“Oh thanks heaps. I really needed to hear that.”
The beautiful boots end up in the thrift store bag along with my brown leather low heeled ones and the gorgeous brown suede. In the end the closet is organized, the wire hangers are all bundled and ready to go back to the cleaners, replaced by the smooth plastic ones I bought ages ago and I still haven’t found my white jeans. Where could they be?
“How about in that pile of ironing you’ve been ignoring?”
“I’ve just spent two hours rearranging the closet. I’m not going to start ironing now.”
“Oh, shut up.”
If you enjoyed this, please feel free to leave a comment here — and tell a friend. Thanks!