My shoes alone can keep me from going on trips. See this suitcase here? It's got to go in that closet. Read on to find out what happens:
Every time I go out of town, I reach through my thicket of clothes into the short depths of my closet to pull the behemoth suitcase out. Putting it back is another battle. Boyfriend wonders why it sits for so long in our living room, waiting to be unpacked and dealt with. What he doesn't hear are my muffled screams as I go into my wardrobe, headfirst, batting a cowgirl skirt and a velour jacket as innocent skirts are pulled from their hangers. Covered in fallen clothes, I push and turn that suitcase into the far right corner of the closet, where there is a corner of a half foot of further depth.
The clothes are innocent bystandards, in their places on hangers on a bar. It's the shoes that are wild. They have no rack. They have no shoe stand. They have no annoying thing hanging from the door. They just have fights and wild affairs. Stray Seychelles mate with Campers. A Two Lips kitten heal puckers her way in, while a BCBG 3" heel pins a heavy Kenneth Cold Reaction wedge from three seasons ago against the wall. It's stressful, going in there, pulling them all out so that the suitcase goes in.
Then putting them back. Little Steven sequenced thongs tumble out, over a stray fake snake skin Aerosol pump, while a suede Reaction (who really belongs in storage with the other winter shoes) wedges her way in-between the door and the hinge, preventing the door from closing and making me scratch my head until I see her little flowered head sticking her nose where it shouldn't be.
Honestly. If I don't show up for a quick weekend with you, it's because I've been taken over. I could get another, smaller weekend bag, but :quivering: where :hyperventilating: would I ... put it?