Enough is Enough

I once read in a women's magazine that every woman has a particular item of clothing that she can't get enough of. (I have no idea if this applies to men - maybe they can't stop buying boxers? or white t-shirts?) One woman interviewed had 16 (16!) black skirts because she just couldn't stop buying them. One woman had ten pairs of the same tennis shoes because she just couldn't find any others that were nearly as comfortable. I vowed then and there to not be one of those women.

Until I started cleaning my dresser.

Here's the deal. I live in a ROOM. Everything I own fits in this room and the two closets I have claimed as mine (except my bike - it's in the garage). I don't have anything in the rest of the house. I have minimal bathroom accessories. I have NO kitchen items (except my salad spinner, which hardly seems fair to count). Everything fits in this room.

So I'm a purger. I must clean my closet and my dresser (it's not a dresser, even, because that would imply a commitment to furniture I don't have, but it's a plastic thing I purchased at KMart and put my clothes in) once a month. It's no holds barred throwing out of stuff. If an item of clothing hasn't been worn, it's gone. I have even started purging shoes. Because, frankly, there's no place to put my new shoes if the shoe rack is full of shoes I purchased in high school and haven't worn since then.

Today the cleaning of the dresser was brought on a shopping trip in which I had purchased two new tank tops. And I realized that the drawer were I put such items was MESSY. My desk can be cluttered, my bed can be unmade, my books can be in unalphabetical order, but my clothes drawer MUST BE ORGANIZED. See, when I was younger, my mother never put the laundry away. I never wore matching socks - not because I was color blind or trying to make a fashion statement, but because I could NEVER find socks that matched. So, as soon as I was old enough to take on the laundry responsibility, I did, but I never outgrew the desire for clean, organized, matched, and easily obtainable clothing. So I sat down on the floor and organized. Even though I had to be somewhere. But cleaning my room was definitely more important to me than being on time. Because I am neurotic. Hence my name.

As I cleaned my drawer, I noticed that I have become one of those women from that magazine article. It's not black skirts (I have four of varying lengths - I think that is completely acceptable). It's not tank tops (although I do have eight or nine). It's not even shoes (although I love them - I do purge them). It's camisoles. I have nine camis in the drawer. And that's not counting the half dozen hanging in my closet. And the ones in my dirty laundry basket. And half of them are white.

And, here's the worst part. I can't bear to part with any of them. I will fold them and gently put them away and cram the rest of my clothes in nooks and crannies of my closet because I will not be without a camisole to wear every day of the rest of my life.

Note: New shoes. Purple. Onitsuka Tiger by Asics. They are yummy and make my feet happy. If it ever stops threatening to rain, I will actually wear them out of the house.