Me & the Closet have a Come-to-Jesus

Back in the spring, I made a valiant attempt to rid my closet of the unfit to be seen in and the simply unfit in the ongoing war of me, my shelves and pie - a battle between dignity, discipline and the capacity of my closet.  Despite what seemed like a battle well-fought, my closet still seemed to be full to bursting with items that, in some case, I filled to bursting.  When I put on the fourth pair of pants one morning that were unfashionably (read: unbearably) tight, I declared war.

Exiled from the closet.

On Saturday, I paraded in front of the illustrious panel of one judge (Mom), and we opened fire on my closet.  The first time she said that something looked "okay," I reached for clarification.  "Does it look okay or does it look fabulous?  I don't do this that often, Mom, so let's be real."  Given permission to declare the dreckitude of any subsequent ensembles, clothes started falling into one of the following categories.  There were the proud and the few who returned to the closet with a hero's welcome.  And then caught in the line of fire was the slim pile of fatter clothes I've managed to undergrow and the fat pile of skinny clothes that I continue to outweigh.  Behind enemy lines was a robust mound of clothes that were to be given away, bound for a new home; and lastly, those clothes so worn out or so...awful...that there was nothing to be done but trash.  Mom perched on the desk chair and snipered bunchy seams, tight bottoms, and baggy tops. 

Give it away, give it away, give it away now

As Colonel Mustard said, "This is war, Peacock.  Casualties are inevitable.  You can't make an omelet without breaking a few eggs.  Any cook will tell you that."

In the end, there were causalities.  The fat and skinny will be allowed to stay, living for a time in the basement until we determine if I am going to stay at this size or continue to yo-up and yo-down.  But the giant giveaway pile?  It's collateral damage.  I've already donated some long slender pants to my tall slender sister. 

Lest you think that this war waged left me unchanged, I am a seasoned closet soldier now.  As much as I love shopping (and I do), I'm going to try to impose a few new rules on myself:

1) I will not buy clothing that does not quite fit or flatter because it is on clearance.

2) I will accept that I am no longer in my 20s and able to sneak by with inexpensive pants for my rather significant rear end and will invest instead in well-tailored bottoms for my well-tailored bottom.

3) I will limit myself to buying clothes with style and not add to my collection of simple, suitable, solid tops that make me feel simple, suitable and, well, a bit boring.

4) I will not purchase any more denim until 2014.

5) I will go to work tomorrow to earn the money to pay for the clothes I need now that I've dispensed with all that I had.