Thursday, June 09, 2011

Extreme Closet Cleaning: or How the Grinch Stole my Wardrobe

Back when acitymom was achaperoning [acitymom chaperones], my daughter and her babysitter took it upon themselves to clean out her closet. Although, before I'd left I had told my daughter a good project for her while I was away would be to go through her summer clothes and set aside anything that didn't fit anymore or that she knew she wouldn't wear again. That way, we could shop for new summer clothes when I got back. So, when I was on that bus with all those kids and received the call telling me the task had been completed without any effort on my part, naturally I was elated.

"Cool," I remember thinking. "Now we can just run out to the store and buy clothes to fill in any gaps of what she needs. I know she could use some more shorts, maybe a bathing suit and some short-sleeved shirts." But at least the herculean and hateful job of closet clearing was done.

I wasn't even suspicious of my good fortune when I came home and saw the three large garbage bags of clothes on the floor of her room, all ready for the Salvation Army. "Fantastic," was all I could think. "I just get to go shopping." And as you know, acitymom loves shopping.

It wasn't until a few days later when I was putting away some laundry that I entered her closet. Perhaps you heard the screaming? It was empty. Nothing but wire hangars and dust bunnies. The Grinch empty.
Grinch with wires.jpg
I couldn't believe my eyes. Seriously? They seriously thought they could get away with this?  Maybe I should try this one myself, I thought, see if I can get it past my husband. I'll just go into my closet  right now and get rid of all my clothes by stuffing them into large plastic garbage bags and then I can lament to him, "I have nothing to wear!" with a heavy sigh and a boo-boo face pout. I know it will drive him mad, my pout always does. Except in this case I think the kind of mad I would drive him would cause me to have to duck flying objects, several epithets and an admonition that, "Money doesn't grow on trees, you know."

Who wouldn't like to get rid of all their old clothes, except for maybe a few favorite pairs of jeans and a well-worn sweatshirt? Who wouldn't like to head out to the stores for an entire brand new wardrobe? I didn't know what to admire more: my daughter's ability to purge a closet or her hutzpah. And that goes for my babysitter, too.

When she came home from school that day, I told her she had to go back through those garbage bags and put back anything that still fit, or that she thought she could possibly wear again, even if it were to just paint the front porch, because we were not going to go to the store and purchase an entire closet full of clothes. A few days later, she did.

It might have been Grinchy of me. But money doesn't grow on trees, you know.

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