No More Wire Hangers...Ever:
I have been spending today…off. That’s what I said…off. Nope…not today because...I’m off. I’m…off. As a treat I’m punishing myself by making myself clean and reorganize my upstairs bedroom, closet and lounge. Also by making myself say and spell M-Y-S-E-L-F a lot.
So I find myself cleaning my closet, pulling things and adding things, when suddenly I look over at my bed and think to myself that I have myself a whole bunch of hangers.
Vintage wooden hotel hangers, Pant hangers with the cardboard tube, the Wal-Mart chic multi-colored (preferable) plastic hanger, the department store plastic shoulder shaped one with notches for tanks and the metal swivel hook, the wire hanger of which I have the most, and one frilly pink delicately padded sissy silk sachet'd hanger.
I immediately identify myself as Joan Crawford as I think to myself that I should have nicer hangers. I instantly hate myself. I mentally begin to beat myself up with the wire ones.
Then I yell at myself, “Look young lady if I’m to go to all the trouble and expense and investment to beg and borrow and steal you beautiful clothes so that you can look pretty, then the least you could do is get some decent hangers to hang them on!”
I then slam the door on myself and that conversation.