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!
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