Christmas in July
I decided to clean out my closet today because it was becoming increasing difficult for me to extract clothes from it each morning. My closet is a walk-in, though not the sort you see in movies. As I was discovering that I own enough recycled tissue paper to wrap a truckload of gifts I uncovered my secret trove of presents. A couple of years ago I began buying people gifts when I would find something I thought they'd like, rather than waiting until a few weeks before their birthday or Christmas. It all seemed wonderful, both from a time-saving and financial point of view. Much like a squirrel that buries a nut. Ahem. The theory is only as good as my memory.
Apparently, my memory is crap. I found a bag of gifts, including a book I bought for my mother and meant to give her last December. Oops. Lots of bath/beauty gifts I thought I'd give away, but didn't, probably because I kept buying more, unaware that I was stocking a small arsenal of soaps and lip gloss.
Then I had to wrestle with the Christmas trees. That's right. I said trees, as in plural, as in two. This last holiday season I felt denied my usual deck-the-halls joy so I stuck an artificial tree (my first) in my room. Then, after the holidays I bought another, thinking I could persuade the very handsome boyfriend to put it in his place next year so I'd have trees in each place.
I don't consider myself a hoarder or particularly holiday-crazy, but my closet has forced me to rethink that. It has also forced me to admit that no, I'm never going to hem that red skirt or wear that very, very short black checked skirt so they should leave my wardrobe.
As to the gifts: I gave some items to my roommates and to Sara who is visiting from DC. They are gifts after all and are meant to be given. Besides, I fear if I put them away I'll simply curse the next time I unearth them.
Sara said, "It's Christmas in July!"
I said, "Happy birthday of our nation. Have a compact."