Once you don’t have an adult to tell you to clean your room, what happens? Well, if you’re a hot mess, your closet turns into a knee-deep pile of sadness. I give you, Exhibit A:
I’m well aware that I need to stop being a slob. “Spend five minutes every night hanging things back up.” “Get rid of things you haven’t worn in a six months.” “Oh, read that great book about being organized by that lady who’s perfect.”
My disaster closet is a constant source of shame and self-loathing but I am incapable of following through on the best laid plans. What I end up with is clean clothes that I tried on, rejected, and threw on the floor mixed in with clothes I need to take to the dry cleaner, with a smattering of mate-less shoes, gum wrappers, and rejected lipsticks. Every. Week.
Why why why can I not bring order to my most favorite place, the place where the clothes live?
I need someone who has power over me to force me to keep it clean. Unfortunately my parents gave up 25 years ago and my husband can try to boss me around but it won’t end well for him. Anyone willing to come over at 7pm everyday to stand watch while I hang up my dresses?
I am going to put down the computer and go clean. If you don’t hear from me, send in search and rescue.