Devotional Object

Man, all I can say is, thank God for Oxy-clean.

A couple of months ago, Husband bought a gigantic tub of this stuff, at which I scoffed. "Pshaw!" I guffed,"Isn't that the stuff in the (ugh) infomercial?" (I pride myself on my sales resistance; it makes me feel entirely superior to Husband, who, though kind and quite hot, has very little.)

He was right about this stuff, though - it's brilliant! It has saved us at least a gazillion dollars in professional cleaning and new clothes, as I have undertaken "Project Closet".

I was getting quite sick of my closet; sick, mostly, of opening it and finding nothing to wear. I knew for sure that I had bought clothes, over the years, that were attractive and fit well and went together into outfits. And yet, for the last several months, I've been throwing open the closet doors every morning, re-creasing my already-creased brow, heaving a sigh, and reaching for the same pair of jeans and dodgy black t-shirt.

And feeling more and more dowdy, as if having the World's Cutest Baby back in December had stolen my mojo.

And feeling really really fat. Now, I've been fat all my life, and, with some exceptions, I haven't really minded it much. I've always been healthy, had many more cute days than hideous ones, and it doesn't seem to have ruined my social or romantic life.

However, I am used to seeing myself in a certain shape. You know, round. I am quite used to being round. But since having the kid, things seem to have...shifted. Interestingly, they've shifted UP. Didn't see that coming, did you? Me either, believe me. But my roundess has shifted up, forming a mound above my belt that was never there before my pregnancy.

So, to recap: though I am 20 pounds lighter than I was pre-pregnancy, I look about as pregnant now as I did this time last year. At the start of my 3rd trimester. All my clothes still fit, technically, but they look entirely different. And by different, of course, I mean crappy. I've been walking around in jeans, black loafers, and something from my large collection of completely plain black t-shirts. Since about March. No jewelry to speak of(Grabby Baby), no accessories, my usual home haircut.

Why on earth would I feel dowdy?

So last Saturday, I flung open my closet doors and took out everything. I sorted through it all, even shoes, even those 200 wire hangers that say "we love our customers smileyface smileyface". I dispensed with a small pile of unflattering things, traded the very summery fluttery things for the turtlenecks and wooly tweedy things. I filed the cotton t-shirts in the drawer with my shorts and sports bras. I hung everything by type and then color.

And ended up with the spotty pile.

You know that pile of clothes, the ones that looked fine when you hung them in the closet but have apparently developed a weird dark spot (or 6) while hanging there?

Honestly, my life must be pretty uncomplicated, because the mysterious appearance of the weird dark spot is one of the most supremely frustrating things in my life.

I ruthlessly threw all the spotty things, all the mysterious things into one pile, the greying shirts, that camisoles with the little bits of soy sauce. There are some shirts in this pile that I absolutely love, some that are practically brand new.

I am rehabbing the clothes. I am completely committed to tossing whatever doesn't come clean, so that whenever I reach into my closet, I'll come up with something that fits and flatters and is decent enough to wear in public and are, you know..clean. Undamaged.

The first round - the white shirts - was a raging success. Everything from the first round has survived to return to the closet! Because of Oxy-Clean! Last week, I wore two white shirts that I haven't worn in months! Because of Oxy-Clean!

I'm soaking the brown shirts right now.