Clothes Hound

A line was crossed today. I had a reason, but... no excuse. Thinking about it, now, tonight, when the world has stopped its spin, the shame is almost more than I can beer bear.

I used to mock people that did this, looked down on the sissies with nothing better to do. Did they realize how ridiculous they looked? Snicker. Again, snicker.

And now I've sunk to their level.

Yes, I bought clothing for a dog. Jake the alleged Scotty had become overly shaggy, so he had to be shaved. They left his head and tail fluffy so the poor guy ended up looking like a furry black Q-tip.What's worse than shaving a dog? Dressing him in 'bling' clothes after he's hairless and void of pride. Somehow I thought a black muscle-shirt with a rhinestone skull & crossbones on it would help his image...sigh. I just wanted to keep him warm, not get him hot under the collar.

Jake is the only dog I've ever met who will, when giggled at, attack. We take great pains not to laugh at Jake, ever, because he gets quite embarrassed and upset, which in itself is funny, which makes our giggling worse, to the point that he wants to rip our ankles off. Or make us walk the plank. Sorry, Jake, but you ARE funny. Arrrgh!

Clothes Call

Today I came out of the closet with my cordless drill. I had no choice. One of the shelves had collapsed and had to be fixed. Seems it couldn't hold its own against my bountiful wardrobe. This wasn't the first shelf to collapse, but it's the first I've told anyone about. I've quietly become a veritable pro handygal with a studfinder, titanium drill bit, and some rebar.

A few years ago I ran out of room in my closet, but I solved it by getting rid of my husband. That gave me a bit more space, especially once I was able to dump the body. Relax, I'm joking. I don't litter, I recycle, and I must say, the daisies have never bloomed better.

I happen to like clothes. And they like me. It's not my fault that everything I try on looks fabulous. It's a curse I've learned to live with.

Admitting there's a problem is supposed to help you solve it. I signed up for a clothes-aholics anonymous meeting, but I couldn't go- I didn't have a thing to wear. Thanks a whole bunch, stupid self-help class.

This particular shelf was for my pajamas. My mother, bless her heart, still buys me pajamas. TMI? Then stop reading. Couldn't stop, could you? Now you know how I am with clothes. So you see this is my mom's fault of course. Do I need saucy yellow pajamas with monkeys and palm trees on them? Or a bright red bunny suit? Of course I do. Because I never know when my mother might fly in and want to see how my pajama collection is doing. So I keep them and keep them...and stack them...on a shelf....that fell. If I get rid of these pajamas, she will buy more of them for me. Trust me on this, she will.

The rest of the closet is overstuffed because I've been shopping my tail off to self-medicate my mental maternal angst. So that, too, is my mother's fault.

(This is the part in the story where all the guys roll their eyes and mutter something about women having too many clothes.)

I'll tell you what, pal, I know I have a lot of clothes, but I've recently come up with a terrific solution. Jewelry doesn't take up as much space and you can spend way more on it. Keep up the eyerolling and I'll make sure your ladyfriend picks up this new habit AND your credit card. But first I've got to figure out what type of rebar to use in my jewelry box.