You haven’t heard from me recently because I’ve been (a) under the weather and (b) sucked into the previously mentionedÂ vacuum known as my closet. I make a terrible patient and instead of bed rest, I dive headfirst into busy work in order to distract myself from how miserable I feel. Hence, the dreaded closet cleaning.
So I’ve filled one large container of things I will give away and two medium bins of things I will ebay.Â Then as the thought of having to photograph then individually list these items I’d like to sell sinks in, more things get shifted to the give-away pile.Â Â For some reason I think my clothes and shoes are breeding in front of my eyes. IÂ tell myselfÂ I’ve made progress vetting things out, but no sooner do I clear out one section do I find new stashes of things accumulated over years of fashion, er, shoppingÂ addiction.Â Â The three bins have become five. Ugh.
On the one hand it feels like Christmas in April…gifts from me to myself…when I discover some shoes or trinkets I’d forgotten I had. But on the other hand it’s more like having an intervention party of one right there in the middle of my closet.Â No sane person really needs to have cashmere cardigans in every color known to man, right? What about theÂ 25 pairs of jeans? Especially if I only wear the sameÂ 3 pairs over and over? And let’s not even talk about the perfectÂ black shirt that apparently comes in 30 different ways. Yes, I know, I know. Admitting that I have a problem is the first step toward recovery. But darn it all, I love looking at my Etro cotton shirts all lined up in their one section…
…andÂ the three fox fur trapper hats on my closetÂ wall:
No, I do not live anywhere remotely cold enough to warrantÂ owning one much less three. But yes, I intend to be hat-ready for my trip to the only continent I’ve not reached: Antarctica.Â Laugh if you must, but I shop like a Boy Scout; I’m always prepared.
Anyway, the meds kick in after lunch and I’m both pooped and high. I don’t really have the energy to reorganize the bins though I’m sure my OCD self will do it a few more times before they are removed from my closet.Â But as I turn to close a drawer door of my Missoni armoire (I know what you are thinking. I stopped counting the Missoni pieces after I ran out of fingers and toes. Twice.) I spot a small box.Â In it are three felt bunnies made a couple of summers ago by my now 16-year-old niece, Zoe.Â I’d keptÂ her handwrittenÂ post-it notes that served as the bunnies’ birth certificates. I have to tell you, my little sister started the bunny wunny tradition when she was a teenager–yes, she’d slave over making them and I’d get the easy task of naming them Pink One Sister, Pink One Brother, Bean, and Beanie.Â OK, so we know who’s the creative one in the family!–and I was so thrilled when Zoe picked up the same habit. It sure beats my shopping habit.
Like I said, it was like Christmas in April.