I mentioned earlier that the business of being a bright yellow spring goldfinch is not a matter of popping into the goldfinch closet and pulling out a fresh outfit. It doesn’t happen all at once. It’s more dithery than that.
And I don’t even know where I come up with such a metaphor. What would I know about going into a closet and finding an outfit? I don’t hit the closet that often. I’m more likely to haul something out of my Closet Annex. That’s on the floor somewhere between the bed and the bathroom. I won’t have my glasses on, and my selection for the day will be determined by the forces of gravity and friction. Whatever is on the top of the heap is a winner.
I’m not sure what it’s all about. A grownup person should be able to take ten seconds to hang or fold up her clothes at the end of the day or send them to the laundry. Mine go to sartorial limbo.
The thing is, I don’t like to run the dishwasher until it’s jammed full and I don’t like to wash my clothes unless they’re truly crapped out. And given my low standards, “crapped out” might have to involve actual crap. If I were going to refresh when my shirts were just getting pitty, I’d have to change every three hours starting at 10am.
None of this applies to Dave, who has no body odor. He’s as fragrant as a ghost. Sometimes when I’m in a contemplative mood and the air smells like nothing at all, I think “Ahh, Dave.” This is spite of the fact that he’s walking fifteen miles a day out there. I think he’s sensitive about my accusations. Sometimes he swears he has developed a manly musk and demands that I smell his armpits to affirm–it’s easy, they’re right there at my face level–but there’s never anything detectable. He could wear the same shirt for months on end and still be in good shape if the Queen stops by.
After I’ve raided my Closet Annex for a week or two, I move stuff into the laundry pile. Anyone curious exactly how long I can wear the same shirt can avail herself of standard geological methodology. Start chipping away at the oatmeal nurdles and run some carbon-dating. I can’t seem to get all my oatmeal into my face, but the stray nurdles never get far. That’s what the bra is for at this point. To protect my pants.
I can flick at it for a few days but there is a certain level of oatmeal accretion that even I find unacceptable, and then it’s off to the washing machine. From which it eventually makes it back to the proper closet, for a while. [We will take a brief break with our hands over our hearts whilst remembering the immortal words of my friend K.C., who once barked at her husband when he reached into the closet for a shirt: “Don’t wear that! I just ironed it!”]
What does it say about an adult woman that her clothes are in a heap on the floor? It says her mom is no longer with us; it says her clothing choice is a decision made before coffee.
I am guessing that Dave is so pure of spirit that bacteria simply find him unpalatable. I am flawed, however, and can get a little pungent with some vigorous activity. My clothes are in a heap off the floor so I don't trip on them. The laundry hamper is full. Guess I better take care of that this weekend.
Dave is an odd combination. His skin is flawless and he has no scent. But he's tremendously attractive to biting insects. I'm the opposite in both regards.
Or in my case it could say that days temps will vary by 25 degrees requiring layering and the days activities involve gardening, food shopping, a meeting, etc. all requiring different clothes that will never make it back to the closet.
I just know there are people out there who hang up their clothes every day. And make the bed. I wonder what makes them tick?
What, you don't have a CHAIR to put them all on like a civilized person?? lol
I feel it's a crime to wash clothes just because they've been worn. The amount of unnecessary water and detergent going into our waterways (treated or untreated) is too high. But I do admit that if I lived in a warmer place, I'd be washing things more often. When it's cold for nine months of the year, there's not a lot of sweating going on.
Or you have so much on that the outer layer stays nice and traps in all the funk.
That’s a bidet. Murr, you have a bidet.
I do!
Cary, before she left 23 years ago, started me on the path of same brand/style/store of underwear and socks. The socks in particular made it possible from just matching any two socks to just shoving them all in the same drawer, helter skelter. I think this was what she had in mind. My own adaptation, and she might or might not approve, is all the same color t'shirts….black. Jeans are still 501's…they last longer. Clothes selection in the am is not even a choice anymore, I grab one thing from one drawer, two things from another, and one from the third. Every 3rd day a pair of 501's are pulled out. and voila! 30 seconds and the daily chore is done.
Utterly sensible. You have no idea how much more complicated it is for women. Actually, I don't either. I still can't put together an outfit. But that whole "having to be pretty" thing is quite a trap for the ladies.
Pretty much I have a “leaving the house today for errands—or anything” “outfit”— soft “sports” bra, jeans and long sleeved shirt (cold out), skirt and short sleeves (warm out), (same jeans, same skirt, may vary shirt occasionally), shoes,— and my staying in “outfit”— no bra, old hippy granny dress and my painty, gluey “art” apron (to hide the no bra and have more pockets, bare feet. I do change my underpants every day though.
Wow. That sounds pitiful!
No, it doesn't! And BTW one of the many great features of the fleece overalls I have three of (and wear ALL WINTER) is it makes the bra optional.
Jenny-O is right. You should invest in a chair and take the weight off the rug. Chairdrobes beat floodrobes all the way.
That would be a MIGHTY big chair.
My wardrobe rule is "comfort."
My clothing might as well say COMFORT in big bold letters on the front. What does this say about me? I'm not on the make.
I live the closet annex terminology. Might have to borrow it. This is EXACTLY the way I operate. On a rare occasion I put my clothes away, but I don't have time for that usually. My clothes piled up in front of my closet are typically clean -but I also have a pile of recently worn, but not quite dirty options. Love that you wonder what makes the make-your-bed daily type tick. No idea. My family has been wondering what my problem is for years. I noticed the bidet too!
At least if people are wondering where we are, they can follow the trail of discarded clothing. It usually leads to bed. Speaking of bed, I'm a tidy sleeper–don't kick at the covers much–and in a pinch I can take one corner of the quilt and snap it over the pillow and things look pretty good. Can't bounce a quarter off it though.
You have a floordrobe??
I can see your floors are clean and your bathroom positively sparkles, so maybe I can forgive you.
I can't possibly wear anything more than two days in summer and three (maybe four) in winter. And that's without spilling stuff on myself. I'm a sweaty person too, which is why I have a good sized stock of anti-perspirant deodorant. I got sick of walking around with giant moons of damp t-shirt in the underarm region.
Different climate. I think that climate is heading our way in the next few years, for which I blame the Republicans, but it's not for the likes of me.
You don't have an unused treadmill where you can hang clothes? Better to see the selection so that even in a pre-coffee blur you can easily choose clothing.
TREADMILL? [giggling]
I made a rule for myself that I would not KNOWINGLY leave the house wearing clothing that had food spilled on it. Now I have to follow the honor system. No fair pretending not to notice the coffee drips or the oatmeal crumbs.
Aww, an honor system! You're hard on yourself.
Too funny.
No such thing.
I find it too taxing to reach all the way to the floor to select something clean-ish to wear, but I have a couch and bench in my room that can hold weeks' worth of pre-laundry. That cat has taken to nesting in my couch-pile, though, so I have a conundrum — throw it all in the wash now to get the cat hair off, or just leave her majesty's napping spot undisturbed until I actually need one of the articles on her pile.
It's not as taxing for me because I'm short and the pile is high. But a sofa would work even better.
I style myself after Johnny Cash — almost everything is black.That prevents decisions. We'd better watch it, though, as we get older the oatmeal gets clunkier on the shirt front and the odor gets condensed. People stop smiling at an eccentric and start seeing a smelly old person. I'm afraid I got serious there.
Now I am sore afraid.