Earlier today I decided that I needed to clear out my wardrobe.
It had reached breaking point, frankly, and such was the overflow of clothing that I recently started hanging things on my doorframe and making full use of the floor.
Time to be ruthless.
As it happens, I am doing rather well.
I have thrown away about half of my clothes which, I suppose, might sound a bit extreme.
However, if we consider that my wardrobe still does not shut, I think we can probably agree that it was necessary.
Nevertheless, even though I was so without ruth during this exercise, I almost crumbled when I got to one stupid dress.
I've had it for about five years. It's black, floral, mid-length, cinched in the middle AND ABSOLUTELY HIDEOUS.
It is still, remarkably, considered to be my 'back-up dress'. If ever I am stuck for something to wear, I reach for this monstrosity.
It always seems like a good idea for about an hour, and then I catch sight of myself in a window or something.
No clothing item on God's green earth is more capable of making me look and feel like a frumpy middle-aged housewife and I KNOW THIS.
So why can't I throw it out? And why do I go back to it so quickly? AND WILLINGLY?
As you read this, I will probably STILL be sitting in a pile of clothes with this dress on my lap.
And I think there might be a metaphor in here somewhere.