So one morning last week I’m rifling through my closet for a shirt. Rifling is probably not the correct lingo since my closets are fuller than Kylie Jenner’s lips. This fact sorta inhibits my ability to see all the clothing I own, making it extremely convenient to forget what’s hiding in my closet.
What I’m trying to say here is I have a LOT of clothes. An awful lot. Apparently I tend to buy things but don’t often get rid of those things, even years later. Now don’t get me wrong. I’m not a hoarder if that’s what you’re thinking. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. But clutter makes me anxious unless it’s out of sight. So closets are perfect places to be a closeted hoarder, so to speak.
The problem is, I don’t like 90% of my clothing. I have absolutely no fashion sense like some of my friends. For instance, Pam and Sue always look put-together, you know what I mean? They have quality clothing that drapes their bodies as though sewn specifically for them. It doesn’t hurt that they have awesome figures. Even Polyester would look wonderful on them.