Thursday, August 10, 2006


Tom and I cleaned out our closet today. It was a mess. There were clothes on the ground, shoes all over the place, bits of stuff we had shoved in there to get out of the way...

In other words, a disaster.

It's not a good sign when you open your closet and things begin to attack you.

Cleaning with Tom isn't fun either because he's all, "Do you really need all those clothes? Look, I'm getting rid of stuff, you can too.."

Problem is, I become attached to things. I have trouble just tossing items in the trash.

Tom doesn't. He started grabbing shirts he didn't wear and throwing them in the trash. THE TRASH. When he finished with his side he looked at me.

"Your turn."

I plucked one shirt from the closet.

"All done," I said.

Tom sighed and massaged his temples, something he does around me often. He does this to prevent him from yelling, because when he yells, I tend to cry even though I don't mean to. It's just a reaction that I get when someone shouts/scolds/yells/is disappointed in me.

"Amber," he said slowly, still massaging his head. "We can't keep all this stuff. You don't even wear half of these clothes. Go through them and find more you don't want."

I blinked. "What if I want them all?"

I saw him swallow hard, his adam's apple bobbing up and down. "But you don't wear most of these shirts," he repeated.

I could see he was reaching breaking point so I went through my clothes again. I managed to find a few more shirts that I felt I could part with.

Then we tackled all the shoes.

"I thought you were one of those women who didn't like shoes," Tom grumbled as he went through all of them.

"I don't. I just like the idea of shoes I guess," I replied. Plus my Mom, who is also a pack rat, tends to pawn her shoes off on me. She'll sometimes have a pair that she's only worn twice and offer them up. They're mainly dress shoes, shoes I only wear maybe once per year but they're so pretty that I can't turn them down.

"Can you get rid of some shoes?" Tom asked hopefully.

I found a ratty pair of sandles and triumphantly threw them in the trash.

"And that's it?" Tom said, eyebrow raised.

I nodded. "The rest are all in good condition," I insisted.

Another big sigh from Tom.

We ended up finding our camera case and the GameBoy Advance shoved in the back. Now I can play some Mario again.

The closet was finished a little over an hour later. Two huge trashbags were filled.

"Great, now we can do the storage closet later," Tom said cheerfully.

Dun dun DUN.

Because, in the storage closet I keep all of Tommy's old clothes. And some clothes that he hasn't even grown into yet that I bought at sales. Tom, he's going to try to make me get rid of those clothes I know it. I'll refuse, he'll yell, I'll cry...

Cleaning with Tom is not fun.


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