I’ll Be Your Wall. (Of clothes)
I’ve been talking in my sleep again, folks. In the early hours of Monday morning, for instance, I apparently rolled over in bed and said to Terry, “Don’t worry: I’ll be your wall!” Which is nice. Well, I mean, everyone needs a wall, don’t they? He can lean on me! Or… sit on me! Rubin can… well, probably pee on me, but you know, still nice.
Sadly for me, though, the only wall I have been encountering recently is the wall of clothing in my hallway:
Terry brought this little lot down from the attic for me on Sunday afternoon. What’s scary about this (other than the WOLF lying on top of it, obviously) is that this pile doesn’t even include all of the coats and jackets that are also up there. Whoops.
You see, because our house has approximately no storage whatsoever, I’m forced to actually DO that thing magazines are always advising you to do, whereby you kind of “rotate” your wardrobe, putting half of it into storage when the seasons change. I don’t really do it on a seasonal basis, because we don’t actually have seasons in Scotland, but at this time of year I will generally throw some of my winter coats up there, and also some other stuff that I have suddenly and inexplicably decided I can’t stand to give wardrobe space to for one second longer.
The idea, of course, is that in a few months time, I get it all back down again, and if I STILL don’t think I’ll wear the whatever-it-is that’s up there, I give it to charity. The problem with that though? Well, once my clothes go into the attic, they generally remain there for… well, forever. Because I basically forget what’s up there. Then I think to myself, “Oh, I really need a whatever-it-is!” and I go and buy one, forgetting that there’s already about twelve of them in the attic. I’d like to say this is why I have something like ten black sweaters/cardigans, but they weren’t even IN the attic, so I guess I’ll have to come up with another excuse for that one. Insanity, maybe.
Anyway, this Sunday I decided it was time to put an end to the madness. Two massive bags of Stuff went to the charity shop this morning, and a bunch of other Stuff was re-instated in my wardrobe, where it’s currently being given a Second Chance. I hope it doesn’t waste it.
Meanwhile, Terry installed a hanging pole in the top of the wardrobe in the office, and went out and bought these:
I like to hang things up. No, I mean, I REALLY like to hang things up. I’d hang up everything if I could. Even underwear. OK, maybe not underwear. But I try to hang as much as I possibly can: I hate folding because everything just ends up horribly creased (see Space: lack off) and also, I invariably end up just wearing the items from the top of the pile over and over again, then replacing them when they get old, while the stuff at the bottom just lies there, forgotten and lonely. This way at least I can see what’s actually there, get more use out of what I have, and hopefully nip that whole “black sweater” thing in the bud.
I can also go shopping. Because, obviously, that’s what all this was all about…