I cannot tell you how it started. Who knows how anything gets started in the dank, dark recesses of my mind? What I can tell you is how it ended, but we're not there yet, are we? We still have to navigate the twisted path that leads us to the end.

Somehow, I wound up in the middle of a pretty major closet clean-out this evening. I really don't know how I talked myself into it, but before I knew it, there were clothes and shoes flying out of the closet. I pulled everything off the overstuffed shelves because I couldn't figure out why it was such a messy jumble that wouldn't fit any stuffs in there that used to fit in there.

The biggest problem was with workout gear. Have you ever seen the magician pull the scarf out of his sleeve? And the scarf just keeps coming and coming? Well, that's how it was with all my workout gear. I found leggings and bras I freaking forgot I owned! As I continued to pull leggings and tops and bras from the recesses of the shelf, I thought I noticed a bit of an unusual aroma. I buried my nose in one of the garments and was assaulted by a smell so sour that I almost compounded it by yarfing. The stink I had uncovered meant that even more clothes went flying out of the closet.

Side note: I can only guess that the sour smell originated with a pair of leggings that got put away before they were completely dry. I'll never know for sure, but I hope adding vinegar to the wash neutralizes that stink. Technical fabrics are notorious for holding on to some powerful body odor, which is why so many outdoorsy types swear by merino wool.

I digress...

At some point, I decided "in for a penny, in for a pound" and I started tossing more shoes, empty coathangers, literal trash (including a herd of dustbunnies, a murder of crows, and a posse of hair tumbleweeds), and--much to Mollie's delight--a few doggie sweaters.

Ok, so there wasn't an actual murder of crows, but the hair tumbleweeds did go blowing by in all the fury.

I even broke out the holding zone bin. See, if I'm in for a penny then I'm in for a pound; and I now have the idea of "avenging angel" in my head to help me decide what is worthy of a place in my closet and what doesn't deserve to live in my closet with the herd of dustbunnies, the murder of crows, and the posse of hair tumbleweeds. There were some very pretty things in the holding bin that went flying out the door of the closet onto the couch; because try as I might, I couldn't figure out how on earth to make them work with "avenging angel". Which means they joined the doggie sweaters in the "make it go away" pile. I stood there and stared at more shoes, and if a pair of shoes didn't work with my fussy feet AND my style moniker then they had to go. Mostly, they went because of the fussy feet, because I apparently have a pattern with shoes: aggressive. Point toe stilettos, studded stiletto sandals, tactical boots, snake print shoes, combat boots, black point toe shooties, vertiginous platform wedge sandals, harness boots, OTK boots, lace up platform wedge boots, SNAKE BOOTS... see what I mean? Aggressive.

When all was said and done, I had:
* a bag containing the herd of dustbunnies and the posse of hair tumbleweeds, along with about 6.8 pounds of sand
* a respectable box of shoes to donate
* 2 kitchen sized bags of clothing and doggie sweaters to donate
* a laundry hamper full of smelly technical fiber clothes
and
* a Mt Everest sized pile of slimline, flocked hangers in a screaming pink color that could wake the dead. Yes, I hoard coathangers. Don't judge me.

And at last, we have arrived at the end. Told you we'd get here, we just had to navigate a twisted path. So, how did it end? It ended with Mollie sneezing (I'm blaming the dustbunnies), a giant pile of stuff to take to the donations drop-off, a very hungry (and thirsty) Cindy, and Thing 1 and Thing 2 happily ensconced in their new home.

Now, I'm off to see if the murder of crows left me anything to eat. Thank you for journeying into the dank, dark, smelly recesses of my mind and closet with me. XO