Get into the Closet
Get into the Closet
3 October 2010
We made the Sam’s Club run, and now have a back-up 3# box of Cheezits. The Prince Consort is in charge of hiding it from me. I’m on Cheezits overload. Which means my jeans are too tight, and even worse, I can’t get through my closet door.
There are several things wrong with this scenario. Primary among which is that my overstuffed closet’s door ( fat clothes, semi fat clothes, once skinny clothes, semi skinny clothes, current clothes) opens inward instead of outward. Which makes it a very narrow squeeze to get in and out. After a couple of weeks of falling off the No Cheezits wagon, I can’t squeeze in and out. So I wear and wash the same jeans and tops and sandals over and over.
The sandals are problematic now that the weather slid from steamy 90’s to very cool. Being resourceful I dug out attractive cat-socks from my chest of drawers (not in the closet) to go with the sandals. I’m getting away with this because my waay too smart young adult Yale Ph.D’d professor daughter does not live in Kentucky. If she did, she’d sniff out what she would consider Still Another of my fashion faux pas, (plural?).
And there’d be another Intervention.
Like the Christmas she flew home, got up early the next morning, and dragged the Prince Consort and I to the Christmas-crowd stuffed regional mall. As we exited the finally parked car, and hiked the miles to the mall entrance, she looked me in the eye and said, “This is a purse intervention.”
Apparently alternating the same two purses for twenty-five years (black for after Labor Day and brown for after Easter) is not fashion forward. Well, yeah, she’s right. So I tried on purses. Hello, I didn’t even know you were supposed to ‘try them on’ in front of a mirror!
The first purse I was allowed to pick up was sooo big when I viewed myself in the mirror, I’d disappeared. Which I thought was a plus, as it meant no one would see how many inches of Cheezits I was wearing on my derriere. Nope. After more than a couple stores and having reached the far end of the mall, I got it. You put the purse on your shoulder turn face forward, and then sideways. You look for how the purse compliments you, not how good it was at swallowing you up in one gulp.
She agreed I could have an attractive black purse of proportionate size. Which of course I am saving for ‘good’. And there’s the problem. I have to get it out of the closet before Christmas and her visit home. Oh, wait, and for the two pairs of jeans she helped me buy last Christmas. It only took trying on enough pairs that the Prince Consort dropped off to sleep in the chair outside the changing room. Another ‘daughter lesson’. Women of a certain age do NOT wear rhinestones on their back jeans pockets.
Of course if that purse had been a size larger, I could have had enough rear jewels to blind a stadium full of FSU Seminole fans.
Moot point since the closet door is a size too small, and I can’t squeeze in.
I’m depressed. Wait. The Prince Consort is watching football through closed eyes. I have time to hunt down the Cheezits, and ‘medicate’.
Sigh. Or just drink my green tea.