A closet, a drawer, a wardrobe…my guess is you have one of these. You may have one that’s full o’ crap like pencils, spools of thread, the much loved blouse that is torn beyond repair, the pants that need hemming, the six years worth of newspaper clippings and rubber bands from said newspaper, and things you’re going to get ’round to fixing.
Yeah, you know what I’m talking about. I’m looking mine now. It’s a black hole–albeit a neat black hole, but a black hole nonetheless, which, upon first glance seems to be made of nothing by white socks. And some black socks.
This, this is my secret shame. It’s a secret shame because I’m known for being neat, tidy and organised. My masters cohort referred to me as June as in ’50s housewife June Cleaver. I clean a lot, wear aprons, iron and have dinner ready and on the table when Dr Shrinkee, that darling husband of mine, gets home. But you’d never guess that by looking at the picture there. The top part of the photo, the bit you can’t see, has everything hanging up according to length. If you look closely you can make out the blue skirt is shorter than the patterned one to its right. However, somehow the space below the skirts and blouses has gotten away from me and exploded into the shame you see here.
Ohhh, I feel so UN-June Cleaverly.
What are you hiding? Have you a shame like mine or something similar? Is your car your dumping ground for junk? Does the space beneath your sink resemble a chemical plant disaster waiting to happen? I challenge you to confess secret shame here…and share YOUR photo with the world HERE, as I did. I’ll pick a winner.
The prize? An Apron. Naturally.
While you confess and email me your guiltiness (firstname.lastname@example.org), I’ll tie on my apron and get started cleaning up my Black Hole of Crapcutta.