The Closet

Somehow or other, I just spent the last ten minutes of my life contemplating the sometimes-silent 'n' in the word 'damnation' and all its derivatives. The English language both awes and irritates me.

There are other things that awe and irritate me. The quantity of my husband's clothes is one of those things. There is no good reason for a man who's standard outfit is a t-shirt and jeans with the occasional flannel to own as many clothes as he does. But we all have to put up with some of our loved-one's quirks, don't we?

When we lived in the trailer, almost all of his clothes were piled haphazardly on shelves and other random things in the cave of a walk-in closet we had. The door was kept shut, and I was able to ignore it. Because I didn't have to see it, the only thing that really bothered me was that one of my favorite shirts of his was lost in that mass of chaos. Every once in a while (maybe once a year), he would rummage through his clothes and "reorganize" them, but the navy blue t-shirt with the cool tractor printed on the back never seemed to surface.

When we moved into the house, our closets were not built out yet, so the pile moved into the corner of our bedroom where it sat and taunted me daily. Although the kitchen cabinets still lacked painted doors, I decided the pile of clothes had to be dealt with, and I began work on the closet. We finally got it finished a couple days ago. Most of his clothes have been moved to the closet, a bin of sentimental clothes was moved to storage, and I can actually vacuum the carpet in the corner of the room where the pile lived.

Design inspired by our neighbor, Terry

Now all we need are doors so that if he musses up my neat stacks, I won't go crazy.