A Fancy Cleanout

Trying to find new clothes for H has become a fulltime job for me and my Fancy PA. We needed a break. So we hit my closet. And she was brutal.

“This looks cheap. That is old. What are you doing? You are 3 sizes smaller than those trousers, take them off immediately!”

It was wonderfully therapeutic, albeit at times a bit insulting. (Really? I love that dress. I never realized it was my exact skin tone and made me look like a cheetah. Hmmm.) But either way I was having fun.

And then Nanny #2 was exposed.

“What is this? What the heck is going on here? Who did this?!?!”

Fancy PA had found 2 dresses, 2 nightgowns, and a couple of very beautiful designer shirts all folded up and tucked into my T-shirts.

“Oh! I wondered where those had gone!” I cried, clapping my hands at our discovery.

“Does she have any idea what she is doing? I mean, I already had to toss out that beautiful wool shirt she’d washed. But a nightgown with Tshirts? Designer dresses folded into little squares? And who does your ironing? She’s off clothes. Take her off. She can leave the laundry upstairs and I’ll sort it when I get here. This is ridiculous.”

I guess it wasn’t just me that found Nanny #2’s laundry skills slightly lacking.

The good news is that by the time we were finished, there were some serious holes in my Fancy Closet.

H came home and immediately noticed the 75% reduction in my available wardrobe.

“What happened here?”

“Fancy PA and I did a major closet gutting. She was brutal. Really brutal. Anything old or too big has gone to a charity shop. The designer stuff is going on eBay. She’s really awesome.”

“Huh. Well, don’t think this means you get to fill it all back up. This isn’t a license to shop.”

Um yes, darling. That is exactly what it means. Don’t be a moron.

Do you know about Net-a-Porter? They use the same super hot delivery men as their men’s counterpart, Mr. Porter. I look forward to seeing them. Frequently. Life is good.