WHERE DID ALL THIS CRAP COME FROM?

A good chunk of the day yesterday was spent in a task that I try to do as seldom as possible. And I would just as soon have put it off for a few more years, but She Who Must Be Obeyed would have none of that.

Yes, it was time to Clean Out My Closet.

And I guess SWMBO was right. It was getting to where I couldn’t really get into my closet anymore, what with all the boxes and shoes and miscellaneous junk piled up in there. Does the name Fibber McGee strike a familiar note?

Now, I should point out that we have two closets: His and Hers. And anyone out there with more than two brain cells to rub together knows who has the bigger of the two. Hint - it ain’t me. So right off the bat, I’m operating at a disadvantage.

But disadvantage or not, it was getting ridiculous, I had to admit. So we waded in and started tossing stuff out.

Clothes. My big problem (and it’s actually a good problem to have) is that I’ve lost a few pounds over the last seven months, after years of slowly watching my waistline expand. After a couple of months, I had had to run out and buy new pants because the old ones were looking ridiculous. At the same time, there were lots of things I hadn’t been able to cram my ass into for years that suddenly looked good on me again. Except, of course, that the fabric was yellow with age. Or the style was a bit...dated. And now, a few more months down the road, all that stuff was hanging off me.

I think I have about three pairs of pants left that actually fit me.

And then there are the shirts. I hate to throw out a shirt if there is the remotest chance I will ever wear it again. But SWMBO and I, we were merciless.

Suits were not a problem, as I had already done triage on my suits a few months ago. And in any event, it’s rare for me to wear a suit in the course of daily business. Unless I visit the Headquarters of the Great Corporate Salt Mine, that is. Otherwise, it's khakis and golf shirts here.

Let’s not even talk about all of the other crap in that closet. Old photographs, long-lost videotapes of the girls’ high school theatre productions, travel souvenirs, enough shoes to outfit an army. AC adapters from electronic gew-gaws long discarded. My collection of Shoe Mitts and Shoehorns from the Great Hotels of the World. I cannot understand why SWMBO would want me to get rid of that.

Out, out, out.

Now I can get into my closet again. I can’t walk around too well in the bedroom, but that’ll be fixed as soon as I finish schlepping all of the leftover junk to the basement.

Thank God for the basement.

All that empty closet space! But Nature abhors a vacuum, and so do I. Next stop: Dawsonville!