“Let me think about that later,” I said to Alex, leading him to the bedroom.  No, not for that!  Alex is gay and young enough to be my grandson (that sounds better than saying I’m old enough to be his grandmother).  I simply wanted his help in straightening out my closets.

They say be careful what you wish for.  They’re right.  “I’ve known you for ten years,” said Alex, “and I’ve never seen you wear this,” he said, pulling out a rumpled chartreuse shirt.  “Not that I blame you,” he added. (So that’s where that was.  I had forgotten I still had it.)  “It has to go” he decreed, tossing it on the bed.  “This, too,” he said, extracting an orange and purple striped sweater (what was I thinking when I bought that?!”) from the closet and pitching it beside the chartreuse shirt.  “And this… and this… and definitely this…”

“No, not that one,” I protested as a black fake suede miniskirt flew through the air.  “I’m not asking,” Alex said.  “You don’t have a vote.”

He was relentless.  The pile on the bed grew until my quilt was no longer visible.  Still Alex continued the purge.  I threatened to report him for elder abuse.  That didn’t scare him.  But finally he was satisfied that the few garments left in the closet were items I had actually worn in the last year.  And even though he couldn’t understand why I’d want to wear some of them, he granted them a reprieve from the Goodwill heap.  I had to admit that my closet looked fantastic.  Each shirt, sweater, jacket, and pair of slacks hung straight and free, with breathing space fore and aft.  I could actually see the entire contents at a glance.

“Thanks!”  I told Alex.  “You’ve earned some milk and cookies,” I said, heading back to the kitchen.  “Not so fast,” said Alex.  “What’s in this other closet?”  “Oh, nothing much,” I said.  “C’mon!” I said.  “Milk … cookies … I’m going to bake them fresh and use that cookie cutter you found!.”  It didn’t work.  He had already opened the door to my second closet whose racks and shelves house my hoard of shoes and purses.  Oh, oh!  I knew this would not be pretty.  The scuffed, battered purses were the first to go, quickly followed by the duplicates.  (“Really, Rose — five virtually identical black pocketbooks?”)  And so it went … or rather so they went, right into the donation pile.

I had a feeling that at least 75 percent of my shoes were destined for the same fate.  “I don’t believe you!” said Alex.  “Why do you still have all these stilettos!?  You’re kidding yourself if you think you’ll ever wear them again.”  “Yes, I will,” I said defiantly. “They’re staying!”  Alex suddenly became very calm.  This was not a good sign.  “We can do this the easy way right now and here,” he said, “or we can go downtown—to your hip surgeon’s office and ask his opinion.”

“Okay,” I said, defeated. I knew very well what my doctor would say.

“Get rid of them,” I told Alex, “but I can’t stand here and watch.”

I fled to the kitchen.   I figured milk and cookies might help.

©2011 Rose Madeline Mula for SeniorWomen.com

Rose Mula's most recent book, 
The Beautiful People and Other Aggravations, is now available at your favorite bookstore, through Amazon.com and other online bookstores, and through Pelican Publishing (800-843-1724), as is her previous book, 
If These Are Laugh Lines, I'm Having Way Too Much Fun

Check out Rose's new YouTube video: http://youtu.be/iAsDjwD3j80

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