If I give it to goodwill, I will need it next week. This is the thought which keeps me from giving away piles of useless clothing. The bridesmaid's dress is hideous and fits like a paper sack. I cannot think of any reason why I would ever wear it again, but I can't bring myself to throw the damn thing away. It's not my fault, I swear. Blame the lime green bell bottoms.
I have no idea why I had to have them, but they were a prized possession during high school. Ridiculously tight, florescent brushed denim, with such a low rise, most underwear wouldn't fit inside them. I loved them. A few years later, I was embarrassed to admit they were in my closet. I unloaded them to a resale shop and considered myself very grown up. Not even a week later, there was a seventies themed costume party, and I had nothing to wear. Really. Not one thing in my closet could even pretend to be as seventies as those pants. I have no memory of what I actually wore to said party, but I do distinctly recall the despair and inferiority my outfit caused me.
So, now I have more clothes than will fit in my closet, most of which I can't imagine wearing, but I'm loathe to give anything away. Every time I tackle my closet, no matter how serious I am about making space, I find my way blocked my that one pair of green pants.
What We Found in the Divorce: Part V — Time
2 years ago