Respect the Frock, Tame the Garment

Right now I am in the middle of a massive spring clean. The focus is my closet (the three out of four

You can't see my face but I assure you I'm exasperated!

in the house I dominate) because I am clotheshorse.

We use the term "clotheshorse" in our society because of the image it evokes: a smartly-dressed woman sitting on the floor of a well-organized walk-in closet. She is surrounded by shopping bags, her mouth is agape but mirthful, her eyes are wide as she coyly looks to the side. She is dangling a high-heeled shoe from her forefinger. She is just exasperated by her good taste! Or maybe her mouth is open in a scream because she is about to drive that shoe into her brain to escape crippling credit card debt.

We should really just use the word "hoarder" but we don't like the images that evokes. Those are scary images you don't buy at the mall. It's an image of me trapped under the weight of a thousand leopard print cardigans in varying color palettes for variety, duh.