Week 1, Day 1: The Clothes

Today is Tuesday. By Sunday, ALL clothes that do not see regular wear will have been removed from my home. This might sound simple enough. But if simple is what it sounded like to you, then you might want to check your ears for cockroaches.

My strategy was certainly clear enough at the outset. It went something like this:

Don snorkel mask and flippers. Dive into closet. Furiously swim my way out, flinging everything in my way into one of three designated locales on Bed Isle: Hoving Home Hideaway*, Keep It Cove, and Junk Junction.

But when is anything ever that tidy, Mamob? In this life, anyway. Well, in this house, anyway.

The Hoving House pile was easy; there were plenty of things in good condition I hadn't worn in maybe 5-10 years and clearly never would again. Also into that pile, in an exhilirating fit of reckless abandon, went quite a few things I have worn and loved in the recent past but which now sag with no stone to support them. So if I gain much weight back, I'll have to either wear garbage bags and gym pants or else buy new clothes with what oughtta be my moving money, prolonging my stay in the Inland Empire. Doesn't that sound like an excellent incentive for getting to the effing gym? Three bulging Hefty bags full of alms for the poor by my front door bellow a satisfied "YES!"

Anyway. It was the Keep vs. Junk dilemma that proved the most perplexing (and I suspect will continue to do so throughout this process). Into the "Junk" pile at the foot of Bed Isle went:

-a pair of shorts my mom made me for me for tap class when I was 14. They were awesome and made of funky vegetable-print fabric, but torn and too small now. Sigh.
-innumberable cast t-shirts from high school musicals, most torn/stained from extensive wear at rehearsals
-other mildly sentimental old t-shirts in less-than-perfect repair,
-a shrug I paid 45 dollars for and never wore that got snagged on something and had a hole in it,
-the bra I was wearing the first time Matty and I ever had sex. In his 2000 Honda Civic. When it was new. In a WalMart parking lot.

Yes indeed. They're all out in the trash can now. F'reals. I wouldn't want someone to try to give me their used bra or stained t-shirt, after all.

If I had normal parents with a normal house and a normal almost-paid mortgage, these things would all have gone into their basement and I wouldn't have had to throw them away until I was middle aged. Oh well.

In the end, of course, there ended up being a Dilemma Dale. This includes:

-a Mrs. Potts nightshirt that my mom made for me when I was maybe 12-13 (still fits; used to love it; hadn't seen it in YEARS)
-the "READERSAURUS: SAN BERNARDINO PUBLIC LIBRARY" t-shirt that I was wearing when I won first prize overall in my school science fair in the 2nd grade ("Can Plants Grow Upside-Down?")
-the stripey shirt I was wearing when you came down the escalator at LAX on 12/31/05. I'd love to be able to take it off for you one day.
-a fluffy little cream-colored dress that I loved at 16. It was from a store run by Indian people and has flowy fabric and pretty embroidery and little buttons and always made me particularly happy. I went to plays with friends in this dress. I wore it as part of a costume for my acting class at UCSD. My mom helped me find a minimizing bra so it would fit me because it was the only one the store had and she saw how much I liked it. I tried it on tonight and barely squeezed into the bodice, but even if it fit properly...it's short and light and resplendent with youthful beauty and innocence. It's like the sartorial equivalent of a spring blossom, and it belongs on a virginal 16 year old girl with glowing peach-rose skin and waist-length golden hair, not on a voluptuous, jaded, almost-30-year-old woman with a bitter streak. And asymmetrical legs (it's very short).

And so forth.

In the "Keep It" pile, there is a skirt from about 1995 that was at the veeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeery back of the closet, and it's in style now. It wasn't then. Apparently I was "boho chic" a decade and a half early.

Also initiated tonight: an ebay stack (three dresses, a scarf, a wool coat, and a pair of new-in-box Dansko shoes that don't fit) and a "free stuff" stack (craigslist will be in order, methinks).

Cliff's stance as of 2 hours ago: giving away my fat clothes is "stupid" because I "will gain all the weight back," and I'm not moving anywhere but at least my house will get a good cleaning.

Savings account balance: $13.01. That one will be updated monthlyish.

And now, it's off to the gym with me. And if you're off to your basement gym: happy shvitzing, thank you for reading, and goodnight!

*The Walter Hoving Home For Fucked Up Women is where one of of Shirley's granddaughters has been in residence for over a year. It gratefully accepts donations of clothing.