And you thought today was an OOTD day.
Ha! Fooled you!
Okay, that wasn’t nice, and I apologize. But here’s the thing: this is my last day of freedom. Tomorrow, it’s officially my first day back on the job and I’ve got Back to School night till 8pm. Then Wednesday, the kids come. And then it’ll be another 183 days before I can be slothful and lax and carefree once again.
Can you blame me for staying in my ratty old shorts and thrifted Gap tee all day? And it’s such a nonentity of an outfit that it doesn’t bear photographing, especially not in 90+ degree heat.
Instead, today, you get this:
What is it, you may ask? It is this…
…with a broken bracket. Actually, the bracket didn’t break; it was literally pulled out of the wall. And when I noticed it and told the hubs, the conversation went something like this:
Me: I think my closet is broken.
Him: You think?
Me: Okay, my closet is broken?
Him: How broken?
Me: The wire thingy pulled out of the wall.
Him: You know what this means, right?
Me: I have too many clothes?
Him: You have too many clothes.
And I think it was the calm, non-judgmental way he said it that finally got me. I felt like I’d just gone through an intervention. It was a figurative slap in the face, if you will.
I have too many clothes.
And rather than feel proud or sheepish or indifferent like I usually do depending on my mood, this time I just felt thoroughly shamed. Didn’t I start this blog to shop my closet? Wasn’t that why I called it “My Closet Catalogue” in the first place? I probably have double the amount of clothes I had when I first started this project. Because that’s just one side of my closet, folks. The side that houses pants, skirts and dresses. Catty corner to it is and similar in length is the side that holds my sweaters, tops and blazers.
After hurriedly divesting the organizer of the groaning weight, then frantically culling clothes that didn’t fit me in an attempt to lessen the load (I filled one huge industrial sized garbage bag of stuff that doesn’t fit, but that’s another post for another day), and still realizing that I have an obscene excess, I knew I had to do it. I had to go cold turkey.
I had to do a spending fast.
Hey, if I did it with smoking, I can do it with spending. All that big talk about budgeting was just my paying lip service to the concept but not really committing. This time, in the face of reality, a torn-up wall and a broken organizer (that is still broken as of this writing because the part still hasn’t come in so I’m living out of my bathtub and both my kids’ closets), I have nowhere to hide.
In conclusion, my friends, today begins my 90-day spending fast. I will not buy clothes, shoes or accessories for the next 90 days. I will enjoy what I have, rediscover old favorites and actually rip off the tags of the new ones.
And maybe, just maybe, at the end of the 90-day trial, I may just go all the way and finally stick to a spending plan that makes fiscal, emotional and spatial sense.