Sort of. I didn’t hug my old clothes and tell them they served me well before gently placing them in a pile to be donated. Instead I tore through that shit knowing that I was kidding myself if I thought I’d ever wear 3/4 of it again and stuffed it all in a bag with reckless abandon. Mostly because my sister Tara (or as I like to call her Teara, pronounced 😢-a, because she hates how 85% of the population says her name and I like to capitalize on that in annoying sister currency), guilted me into it after she went in there and almost had a panic attack.

In her house, everything is organized and labeled, right down to the baskets in her pantry. There are: “salty snacks”, “sweet snacks”, “dog treats”, “popcorn for rainy days”, “cookies for sunny days”, “Ritz Crackers”, “cereal with raisins”, “cereal with flakes”, “items I liked in 3rd grade other than Ritz Crackers”, “snacks I enjoy when watching Grey’s Anatomy which my sister Tiffy can’t believe is still on and makes fun of me for watching but I don’t care because I love it”, “yucky food my husband Christian likes”, “side dishes” – I could go on but there’d never be enough room.

The panic attack almost happened because she was caught off guard. The rest of my house is neat and fairly well-kept, but my walk-in closet was a dirty little secret. I got lazy and stopped hanging up my clothes a while ago, so there were pants, shirts, scarves, jackets – all in one giant pile on a shelf. Shoes, boots, flip flops, Crocs covered in paint, sneakers with dried mud, slippers with holes, strewn all over the floor. A tall dresser had pajamas and socks spilling out of the drawers and a huge pile of junk on top. Handbags were placed haphazardly on the floor and above head. Mismatched hangers were mashed up and poking out from different angles where clothing used to be.

She looked like she was getting dizzy and I’m pretty sure she was about to start hyperventilating, so I quickly pulled her out and sat her on the bed. She begged me to let her clean it but I refused. I told her I considered it quite impressive that I knew exactly where everything was and that I heard messiness is a sign of true genius!

But after 3 weeks of texting her random closet pics to make her skin crawl, and her telling me how gross I was, I gave in and cleaned it yesterday.

I’m not even joking, it took me 4 hours. Granted, it took 2 hours just to go through a memory chest I haven’t looked in since 2 houses ago (a whole other blog in and of itself), but I did it!

I was so proud that I asked her to come over to see it. After all that work, this is what she says:

“If I only saw it for the first time now, I wouldn’t be impressed at all. But since I know how bad it was before, I guess it’s pretty good.”

Bitch.