Saturday, 3 August 2013

Clear Out

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.