My Clothes Hook

hook-800pxMy wife yelled down the hall from the laundry.

“You need new clothes.”

“Why?” I hollered back.

“Because what you wear is grubby.”

I admit that what I wear is well worn but that only means it wears well – fitting perfectly into my minimalist and grubby lifestyle.

I keep it simple. Two pairs of shorts and two t-shirts for summer and the same count of blue-jeans and sweatshirts for winter.

Who needs more?

Sure there is church and the occasional social event, so I keep a few dress shirts handy – plus a pair of Dockers and my blue suit. These I hang from a hook on the inside of my closet door.

That way, I never have to reach into my closet.

I prefer to stay out of there because my closet holds things that I do not want to revisit. In there is another me.  A thinner, hyper-caffeinated, office attired me – and thank god those days are over… I mean the caffeine/office days, not the thin days.

“You need new clothes,” she repeated from somewhere else in the house, probably the pantry.

I tried a different tack. “I don’t have room in my closet.”

“You know what to do about that,” she said, tossing a large black garbage bag into the bedroom.

So now I had to load up yet another piece of my life and haul it to the Goodwill. I shouldn’t have minded doing this but I did. Filling a bag for the Goodwill is a lot like confession. In order to unburden yourself, you must revisit your history.

I, for one, prefer to hang onto my old sins, not hand them off to someone else. Those sins are mine and I paid the price for them. By unloading them, I become less of who I am.

The same with clothes.

When we moved into this house, we had two closets. One for her and one for me. She filled her closet then started filling at one end of my closet and slowly encroached her way past the middle.

I feel I am being squeezed out and all that remains of me are old clothes and old sins.

I guess I am returning to my roots.  Back during my days of innocence,  I hitch-hiked around the country carrying nothing but a small backpack.  Over time I began to accumulate – both things and mistakes until I had so much of both that I was forced to settle down just to survive.  That is when I really began to accumulate – mostly stuff and yes, a few more sins – until it all became too much and I came full circle.

Now, all I have is half of closet full of unwanted clothes, two summer and winter outfits and my good clothes hanging from a hook on my closet door.

When I finished filling the bag, I yelled, “I got rid of what I can.”

“Then hang your good clothes in the closet where they belong,” she called from the laundry room.

“Okay,” I called back.

“Good,” she said coming down the hall with a few of her things dangling from hangers… which she then hung up on the hook that I just emptied.

I just stared at her.

What?” she said, “you’re not using it anymore…”

Author: Almost Iowa

www.almostiowa.com

34 thoughts on “My Clothes Hook”

  1. Pingback: In lumina
  2. They say that every good story should have a hook, and you just did a bang-up job of taking that advice literally. You also made me think about all those “professional” clothes hanging in my closet. I can’t imagine ever using them again, although it wouldn’t be too bad to fit into them again. If I ever get over-worked and over-stressed again, it might happen. I might wait for the re-forming of a group that was active here before, providing business clothing to women moving into the work force. Until then, I guess they’ll just hang around.

    1. I might wait for the re-forming of a group that was active here before, providing business clothing to women moving into the work force.

      What a wonderful idea!

      Women’s clothes are so much more expensive than men’s and I could imagine the cost becoming a barrier to entry into office culture.

  3. All along, an evil plot. The next worst part is when you get to Goodwill and they tell you that they can’t accept your clothes because they’re too far out of style.

    1. But then what constitutes worn out? At what objective point does one decide that a piece of clothing must not be worn again? I have discussed this with my friends and the consensus is: when the greeter at Walmart will not let you into the store because of the holes in your pants.

  4. We have one wardrobe in our bedroom; it belongs to my wife. I am allowed to hang a few shirts at one end, but if I take one out to wear, when it comes back from the wash there are, strangely, no longer any spare hangers.

  5. I persuaded my other half to clear some stuff from his closet . He wouldn’t take the clothes to Goodwill though, as he feared he might still need them. Instead we packed them in the son’s spare closet downstairs, which got flooded, so now unknown quantities of sodden clothes are gone – together with carpets and furniture… Goodwill would have been a much less painful prospect.

  6. Another wry peek into the sartorial ambitions that wives generally have for their reluctant husbands. I bet she also pats you on the lapels after straightening the collar of your jacket, on the rare occasions that you actually wear one 😀

  7. What is it about men not caring how they look after they retire or get older? My husband could care less if the sweater or shirt he puts on is wrinkled or has a stain. His father was the same way. His father used to leave the suspenders on his pants then hang them from a hanger so he could just slip them off to wear them. I told my husband there was no way on God’s green earth I would ever let him get away with that while I’m still around!! Now to see who lasts the longest and gets their way….

    1. Yeah, it is an excellent observation but then again so is noticing how annoyed the Goodwill folks become when I confess my sins to them…. As one clerk said, “Booooring!”

    1. John, don’t your clothes get snagged on the concertina wire?

      Otherwise, I planned to keep my professional clothes for special events and was reminded that by the time a special event came around the clothes would be out of style. So, Goodwill was a good sport and took them off my hands.

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