Spring Weening

Once again, I was coerced into participating in a serious bout of spring-cleaning. Only this time it was initiated my new girlfriend.

I’m not exactly sure how it all came into being exactly. I usually loathe these types of cleansing activities - with or without the girlfriend. But one minute I was showing her my new dress shirts in my closet and the next thing I know we’re sorting and throwing shit out.

Funny how that works, eh? Boy meets girl; boy shows girl something from his closet; girl assumes control and begins throwing shit out. It’s the same ‘ol classic story wherever you go I’m sure.

But this particular purging felt different somehow. It almost felt…nice.

Therapeutic actually.

Among the spoils found in the remotest nether regions of my closet this year were bags of gaudy Christmas ornaments, miles of random electrical and computer wiring, half a dozen stained pillows, one broken laser jet printer, a dozen or so unused winter coats and jackets, about a zillion broken computer mouse’s*, and more tacky out-dated beach shirts than you could shake a boogie-board at. Honestly, I alone could probably clothe an entire sellout crowd at any Jimmy Buffet concert.

After I donate all these fashionable threads to the local thrift shop there is going to be some very hip, colorful homeless people walking around downtown let me tell you. It'll be just like Key West under the city bridge alright!

Of course there was a whole host of other ripped, faded, stained and wrinkled articles of clothing that were not even fit for donation. Personally, I’m more inclined to just light them all up in a huge polyester bonfire in the backyard but I’m sure the Fire Department would have something to say about it. I’m sure that burning ugly shirts without a permit is still a chargeable offense.

I guess part of what made this year’s spring-clean almost tolerable was the fact that I had that added assistance from my girlfriend. Suddenly I have that added motivation I needed that I was not normally accustomed to receiving.

I’m a man; I procrastinate – what can I tell you?

But let me tell you, after you witness your girlfriend wrinkle her nose in disgust after having seen the pit stains on your old bartenders uniform that’s been hanging in the back of your closet for the last 10 years, but for some reason you still haven’t been able to part with, well, suddenly you’re more inclined to pitch it like a used car salesman.

Of course, all the laughing, pointing and mocking sure helps too.

I simply needed her to help me cut the umbilical cord on some of these, well, lets just say “bolder” fashion choices. It's motivation at it's most basic. A blind person could have told me that these clothes were ugly, but it took a real loved one to hold my hand while they stuffed it all in garbage bags.

* How many fucking mouses have I gone through? Seriously, it was like where computer mouses go to die.