Post # 100

Congratulations to me! This is my 100th post. I remember when I was just a frustrated suburban mom without a voice. Stewing on life's little mini-tragedies, mini-crises, mini-annoyances with no outlet for expression, save a night time martini. Now, here I am, a cent-blog-anarian, daily exorcising my mini demons, slandering my children and husband, and wasting quality time sitting here at my desk. Moderately entertaining all two of my faithful readers. And still, savoring that night time martini. Ah, how times change.
So, I finally mustered the courage to tackle that bedroom closet. I purged the size 4s and 6s. (Who was the woman who wore those, any way?) I purged the dry-clean only work wear from more than 6 years ago. (The birth of E signaling the demise of my fashion consciousness) I purged the old tyme faves that are just hanging on by a thread. (But they were sooo comfy!) I delivered four big black garbage bags to Goodwill. Woohoo! The battle was long, and it seemed for a while as though the closet might prevail. The closet had its minions working against me: a legion of entangled hangers relentlessly tripped, scraped, poked and ensnared me. Avalanches of dusty long-forgotten purses and diaper bags toppled onto my head. Safety pins, deftly placed by secret agents at the dry cleaners, pricked my fingers. Armies of dust bunnies embedded themselves in my hair. And, lo, those hateful size 4s mocked and sneered mercilessly at my expanded derriere. It was a no-holds-barred battle royale. It was a cage fight in a closet.
But, I prevailed. And I realized something, as I was painstakingly arranging the few articles that remained: I shop for M all the time. He had over 40 pairs of pants! Nice ones, all ones he can still wear! I had 6. And two of those are really only for days after I've had a severe case of the flu. Now, I have identified a part of the economy that I have been undersupporting: retail clothing! I will venture into these department stores I have heard of (see also: Internet shopping rules) and purchase things not for my house, for my children or for my husband but for ME! I will become a fashionista! A size 10 maven of clothing. A thoroughbred of clothes horses!
More likely, though, I will wear the three things left in my closet until they fall apart, naively thinking every day that someday I will once again wear single digit sizes, fail, and then cry.