I believe all women have their closets arranged in sections: thin, medium, large, and holy shit. I’ve decided it’s time to clean mine out.
Deep in the abyss, the section I’ll never be again but thus far haven’t been able to part with, is my thin section. There are size 10 clothes that are actually back in style, but would look ridiculous on a middle-aged woman, even if I were thin again. I ask myself, is it the clothes I want to save, or the memories attached to them? And if I really think about it, do I want to keep clinging to those memories? Way back then I always thought I could patch up people like I patched my skinny jeans. I was a seamstress for ripped, torn, suicidal people. I was sure I could help and heal them all.
Pushing the clothes down the memory lane pole in my closet, I come to the medium-sized section. That was the time where I discovered that life is too short to waste on Boon’s Farm Strawberry Hill wine when there is plenty of merlot out there. And although I was eventually able to differentiate between good and bad wine, I still hadn’t learned to do that with friends. My patchwork circle of friends stuck to me like an iron-on that couldn’t be shaken off.
My life and my clothing size turned large without warning. But the clothing industry, God bless them, was merciful. A fourteen is the new twelve. And age forty is the new thirty. I discover everything is sooo much better when you take your time, enjoy it , and do it right the first time instead of jumping right into the deep fryer. I also learned there is red wine beyond merlot , and that the “T” is silent unless you live in the boondocks - in which case you drink Boon’s Farm Strawberry Hill Merlott. Life can be light like a pinot bianco, or heavy like a French burgundy. And if you make the right choices, you won’t wake up with a nasty headache. The same – I was slowly learning – goes for friends. If someone told me their entire medical history within the first half hour of meeting them, I knew not to give them my (real) telephone number.
I am presently clothing myself from the Holy Shit section of my closet. I have learned, but more importantly have accepted, that a size 16-18 is just that. Period. End of story. Don’t misunderstand me. This doesn’t mean I am downing Ben and Jerry’s by the pint. It simply means I am smart enough to know I will never be a size 10-12 again. And I am wise enough to know it is time to throw out those other sections. Time to weed out those memory-laden clothes weighing down the pole and cluttering up my sanity.
Who would have thought cleaning out my closet could be so therapeutic? Life is short. Stop clinging to all that old shit. Throw it away, for God’s sake. Don’t wear clothes that aren’t comfortable. The same rule applies for friendship. Keep that one favorite sweater that fits you no matter what size you are. Keep that one best friend that loves you no matter what.