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.

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
sneakers.

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:

- net
- tranquilizer gun
- crucifix
- holy water

Fortunately, I couldn't pay my parents to read my blog, so I'm exposing them in here. (cue evil laugh)