Purge

I’ve been cleaning my closet. The change in the weather is partly the cause, as I need more access to more sweaters. I am rarely without a sweater, even in summer. Air-conditioning and I are not on friendly terms, so I wear or carry a sweater to mitigate the arctic temps of some office buildings, busses and trains. In the wintertime, I’ve been known to double-sweater.

Other than outerwear, coats, hats, gloves and so on, my warm weather wardrobe doesn’t vary that much from my cold weather wear. I do tend to wear more turtlenecks in the colder weather, but a turtleneck, or at least a mock turtleneck or two have made summer stops on my top.

I don’t do pastels, as a rule. I’ve tried. I just can’t embrace pale yellows, greens and the lighter hues of blues. I don’t do prints, especially, floral. My disdain, however, for certain fashion choices hasn’t stopped the flow of these items into my closet. Thanks to well-meaning gift givers, I have amassed a collection of pale and/or printed tops. Many of which are also too large.

I’m a healthy specimen of woman, no doubt. I am not, however, by any stretch of the imagination, buxom. Never have been, never will be. Yet, I have tops that would indicate the purchaser had someone else, entirely, in mind when making said selection.

Which brings me to bras. I wear bras and yes, I buy all my own bras. I wear front hooking bras. I like them because they are easy to get into and more importantly, easy to get out of, a must for middle-of-the- day work-out sessions and the shower which must follow.

I have one bra who is really past her prime. She has served her purpose, outlived her usefulness-but she is so damn comfortable. I can’t bear to part with her. I must though. She has taken to coming undone, without provocation, in the middle of conversations or other scenarios where immediate re-hooking is not encouraged or possible.

And while, being the un-buxom specimen that I am, the un-expected un-hooking doesn’t result in major flipping and flopping, it is still, well, unseemly and unwelcome. Thank goodness I was wearing a sweater, but still, she must go.