I am not sure what age I was when I found out about it. Probably in junior high would be my best guess. And I had forgotten all about it until recently.
Had someone come look at my HVAC and make sure my heat was working and as we were talking, he looks over and says, “Ah, you got one, too.”
He points to a pile of clothes, on a chair, in the corner.
“You have a corner. Where everything goes.”
I looked over and yes, there it was. My corner. And it was full of clothes. One giant pile. As oxymoronic as it sounds, it was a neat pile, I might add.
I counted 6 shirts, 2 pairs of pants, a jacket, 3 sweatshirts and 4 beanies.
And then I remembered, the one I had in college, the one had in my first apartment and on and on and on.
But, why a corner? I have a closet no more than 10 feet away, that I pass going to the bathroom. Plenty of space, plenty of hangers, plenty of everything, yet, I have a corner. As I type, I am looking at it and the 6 shirts, 2 pairs of pants, a jacket, 3 sweatshirts and the 4 beanies still occupy my corner.
When I went to remove a shirt from the middle of the pile in the corner, it was like playing Jenga. Trying to remove the article of clothing while trying not to make the Leaning Tower of Polo’s topple over, is not easy.
It didn’t work.
My mom would say that pile is there because I am lazy, and I would agree, and I would counter, “But Mom, it is a perfect pile.”
She would have come back with, “Yes, a perfect pile of ……..”
My corner, forever.
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