On one of my recent trips, the woman sitting next to me on the airplane told me she was cleaning her closets. It's a spiritual practice, she said as she refreshed her make-up.
You mean, metaphorically speaking? I asked, hopefully. I'm not the kind of person who gets into the cleaning thing. Unless I can do it with a pitchfork.
But no, she meant it literally. She said it's important to look at what you hold onto. Especially the clothes you'll never wear again, like those teal pantsuits you've had for years. (I've never worn teal or a pantsuit, and I have no intention of starting now.)
Like my wedding dress?
No, she wasn't talking about wedding dresses. Though it's true I never have taken mine out this big box where it's supposedly "preserved." I sometimes wonder if it's actually in there. I have contemplated taking it out and wearing it for Halloween, but I might scare someone.
But the other day I started looking at all the clothes I never wear. Like the Sylvia Plath dress that fits me like a glove. Or the Dorothy dress that has puffy sleeves and a fluffy slip that is designed to show. I just need red shoes and Toto, too. I wore it once upon a time. Or my mother's old double polyester black cocktail dress that makes me look like a penguin. My mother was a firm believer in one-size-fits-all.
No, I think I prefer just to close the closet door.
Literally and metaphorically.
I mean, who knows when a memory might come in handy?
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