Fashion: In One Year, Out the Other

Friday night, after we put Viva to bed, Sweet William and I were lolling about on our bed, talking about everything, and at one point, Sweet William pronounced, "Oh, and by the way? I've decided I hate all my clothes. They all must go."

Now, I don't know if I've mentioned this before, but Sweet William is something of a clothes horse. I am too, or I used to be, when I had disposable income. But since the birth of Viva, we have eased back quite a bit on our clothing purchases, with some very sad results, for me in particular.

But shortly after he made this pronouncement, he went on a joy ride of clothes expulsion from our walk-in closet, and since I caught the fever of the moment, we now have five large bags of clothing and shoes sitting in our bedroom, to be donated to Goodwill. Our closet is, how do you say, nearly empty?

The pillaging of the closet was, I must say, quite fun.

"That sweater has GOT to go," I'd say.

"Really? Old Blue? But I love this sweater. Can I keep it for weekends at the park?" Sweet William would say.

"All right," I'd give in. "But you need to lose that gray Polo shirt."

"It's done?"

"SO done. Don't you think?"

"Okay, but you have to get rid of this pink shirt. I mean, look at that collar, come on. Where are you going to wear that?"

You would think I would be somewhat protective of my clothes, but since I am sick of all of them, too, I didn't care. It was really kind of liberating.

Yesterday, Sweet Wills went to Ross and picked up a few dress shirts and some dress pants, deeply discounted. And today, while Viva was spending some time with her grandparents, we went shopping and dropped a small fortune on clothes. I am, right now, this second, wearing a brand new pair of jeans bought today in the Petite department at Nordstrom (Pet Peeve #489: I generally have to get all my pants hemmed, even when I buy petites. Why can't women's pants be sized like men's, so you just look for your waist and inseam size? Jesus!).

Oh, I forgot: while we were overhauling our closet, we came across our wedding outfits and tried them on. They fit. This led to the rather logical conclusion that we would be justified in eating ice cream, and fortuitously, Haagen Dazs was on sale at our local supermarket. Sweet!

In other news, I have no other news. That's why I haven't been writing. But I have gotten over my "I am a horrible person" mode of the past few days. I mean, how long can I self-flagellate? It becomes boring, yes?

In closing, I leave you with the wise words of George Carlin:

I'm not concerned about all hell breaking loose, but that a PART of hell will break loose... it'll be much harder to detect.