10.30.2008

Out of the closet.


Well, I'm not focusing so much on what comes out of the closet but now that I have your attention, let's discuss closets.

The closet....sigh. The place where we are supposed to hang our belongings, but it's so, so much more. If you are a woman (or metrosexual...or gay), then the closet is a very important feature in your home. For some it is a great big bone of contention...this is your half of the closet and this is all miiiiiiiine.

I hate my closet. Really and truly hate it. It's dark. It's small. I have to share it with my husband and all of his roughneck, thug Southpole jeans that weigh a ton and bow the hangers. But that's not the worst of it. We used to have sliding doors on the closet but since my house was built in the 50's, they aren't the nice smooth sliding doors that you are probably envisioning. They would always fall off the track and Michael would get all pissed when he'd have to adjust them constantly. Finally he just took them down and said, "This is ridiculous! I'm buying new closet doors!" But if you knew my husband and his ADD...this could literally mean years without closet doors.

And it has been, my friends.


Defeated, I asked him to just put the old doors back up. But he can't because he either cut one of the doors in half or he painted on it, he can't remember which. And the other one is floating around the back yard somewhere. Sigh. My other alternative is to hang some curtains...now I'm just waiting for the rod to get put up.

Ahem.

This whole no-closet door business really chaps my butt. And I gotta say, without any prior knowledge of feng shui...it's totally messing up my feng shui. To walk in the room and have to see all the contents of your closet....ugh. It makes everything look so messy and ghetto. I remember the days when I could just shut the closet door on all the funk.

I hate to see dust bunnies, shoe piles, pants that you can't fit into anymore that have a layer of dust on the hanger, purses that you try to hide from your husband so he won't know how many you bought, dirty socks, yesterday's jeans, belts, ties, about a hundred pairs of flip flops and more dust bunnies. Seriously, it defeats me. It's totally impossible to have a clean-looking bedroom now.

In my next life I have decided to come back as Kimora Lee Simmons. Ahhhh, to be six foot tall, thin, amazingly beautiful and married to a filthy rich black man. I've seen her closets and chiiiiiiild, it's probably the size of my entire house. To think, little cubbies for all your shoes, shelves for your purses so you don't forget which ones you have in the dusty pile, nice hangers, enough room for all of your things and bright lights, so you can freakin' see. Oh, if only I could have leopard print chaise lounges like Kimora. Oh, and legs from here to eternity. Now that she is divorced from Russell Simmons (smiling and sayin' "HALF!!" just like Eddie Murphy's Uhmfufu in Raw), she is with another successful black man. Djimon Hounsou. That brother looks like an Adonis that's been dipped in semi-sweet chocolate. And that ain't a bad thing.

And so now I wait. I wait for the curtain rod. Or until we move into another house. But I have a sneaking suspicion that I have ruined it for myself by mentioning Djimon Hounsou and the semi-sweet chocolate.

Dang.
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