Recently I had to hire a Sherpa and obtain an ample supply of oxygen to take on a dangerous expedition. No it was not my aim to conquer Everest, K2 or even the speed bumps at the mall. My toes and fingernails are already black enough from digging around in the litterbox without the risk of frostbite. No my goal was a TRUE challenge and that was simply to clean-out and paint our walk-in mystery closet.
As the name implies, left un-checked, those caverns of racks and shelves are dark, puzzling places where moths, animal skins, and things of all persuasions are able to walk-in but rarely walk-out. I thought it high time to conquer my fears and unload the clothes dungeon so I could paint, organize, and re-populate the space before my spouse got lost in there too. Amazingly it took 3 rooms to splay out the tangible effort and energy from several generations of sheep and silkworms before the work began.
As a rule all went as planned however I was shocked that apparently in a fit of passion my ties must have been hanging around like lonely teens doing a lot of necking! Clearly there is no other explanation how in dark seclusion my ‘clip-ons’ had fervently reproduced into so many offspring considering I still have only the one pencil neck. I don’t remember Dilbert or that bon vivant Christian Grey needing 49 extra ties to get the job done so what’s my excuse?
While drawer-bound, it seems my aging Underoos and Crews have increased in stature too but that may be an illusion due to the flaccidity of the elastic weave or the fat I routinely pack into ’em. One thing’s for sure though, just like me, those poor abused skivvies and hop-socks are now markedly ‘holier’ than thou and certainly GRAYing with age. Despite all the expansion going on in that magical mystery closet, none of that mojo has rubbed off on my belts, shirts, or pants – because oddly, all that stuff just seems to be getting smaller and SMALLER!