Being a professional wardrobe cleaner-outer, who has people pay me good money for my services, one
might think that my parents would be eager for me to donate my services to such a worthwhile cause. Nope.
Instead, I have had to cajole, beg, humiliate and bribe them to get my hands on that mess.
This has been ongoing since this past summer, when I spent some time in there trying to help my mom
pick out an outfit for a wedding - at the last minute, of course. It's shocking how two adults with a relatively
clean house can have such a horrific closet. It's like two 12 year old boys share the space, complete with stinky
My parents are the poster children for how not to manage a closet. Not that the word "manage"
should come into play at all. I'm pretty sure that my closet monkeys were bred in there. It's literally
a monkey mill. Well, not for long.
While I'm there, a fashion exorcism may also be necessary.
I will come equipped with:
- tranquilizer gun
- holy water
Fortunately, I couldn't pay my parents to read my blog, so I'm exposing them in here. (cue evil laugh)
Friday, January 16, 2009
Into the Monkey Mill
Monday is Martin Luther King Day, which means it is D-Day for my parents' closet. My mom will be off from work and that is the day we decided to attack it. And I do mean attack.