Buried By Clothing
I have a clothing problem. I cannot close my drawers and my closet is bursting with items. I am not a fashionista. I am a hoarder, plain and simple. What’s even more troublesome is that I love other people’s cast-offs. Getting rid of that misshapen t-shirt with the paint stains? I’ll take it. Have a pair of ill-fitting pants with worn out butt cheeks? Perfect.
I freaked out when I was making the switch from my winter clothes to my summer clothes. How many white t-shirts does one woman need? Many, apparently. I dutifully unpacked the cropped pants that make my legs look stumpy, the dress that squishes my armpit fat, and the skirt that blows open and exposes me when I walk. I then packed away the winter sweaters that are itchy and give me a barrel chest, the tweed pants that ride up my bum, and the black shapeless dress I never wear but keep because it may come in handy one day.
I was so shamed by my piles of under-worn clothes that I vowed to turn over a new leaf and never buy another stitch of clothing again, or at least for a season. I was so disturbed that I almost told The Sweetie not to get me any birthday treats from Smoking Lily while he is in Victoria this week. I had dropped numerous hints that Smoking Lily would be a good destination for a husband of a birthday month celebrant. Surrounded by piles of clothing, I called him and announced that I didn’t need anything from Smoking Lily and that I had become a new streamlined clothing minimalist.
I am weak though. I peeked at the Smoking Lily website and saw this adorable dress and now I am salivating and making sick deals with myself. If I promise to get rid of the shapeless black dress maybe I could replace it with a new adorable birthday dress. After all, if it’s a gift I would not be complicit in ruining my new declaration of minimalism.
I would promise to treasure and wear this precious dress for always.
