It is a truth universally acknowledged that a woman in possession of a potential husband must be in want of a good fortune. As a woman in that very situation, I have decided to forego said fortune in favour of good closet. There’s just a little problem with my decision, and that is, by foregoing fortune, I am inevitably also foregoing closet.
I have always told my mother that I would rather marry a poor boy with a rich heart than a rich man whose own heart is all about solid gold and no feeling. Fate must have heard me (yes, it has ears when it feels like it) because poor boy with rich heart was delivered on a platter, and almost four years on, I have found myself picking rings and thinking about things like centrepieces and aisle decorations.
But before Poor Boy and I get hitched, we have decided to take advantage of the government’s generosity (or yours, taxpayers) in the form of the First Home Owners Grant – put toward a wee little apartment in a very trendy new block in a very untrendy suburb (I keep reminding myself that beggars can’t be choosers). While my other half has busied himself with things like strata reports and mortgage insurance (for us, very necessary considering I was recently made REDUNDANT), I have reclined myself to the fact that for the next few years, my closet will have to downsize to the extreme.
Here at mum and dads, my closet and I share a great relationship. She is well stocked, taken care of, maintained, and spent time with. And, as an essential of every good relationship, we converse with each other on a regular basis. She is the perfect size, and I tell her often how beautiful she is. She meets my needs for heightened self-esteem and levels of hotness by presenting me with rack after rack of gorgeous shoes, dress collections, and of course, accessories.
But, considering the fact that we are in a relationship, we are always bound by honesty. And this time is no exception. Closet knows that I am moving away to make my life with poor boy, and that she and I will no longer ever be. And she can’t fathom why I am downsizing, despite all our happy memories and the fact that she has treated me so well.
I’ve already made poor boy think twice by kicking up a stink about new closet’s size when we were inspecting, so I think it’s time I accepted the cards that fate has dealt me. Closet and I will always remember the good times we had, and considering we still have a lot of time together before I make the big move (I am talking one year plus), we will be able to sort those finer points out.
It’s funny really – I’ve kept her nice and pristine, and she is going to give me all my belongings back – to take to my new apartment, my new closet and my new life. Divorce has never been so amicable, but then again, we have always said that if women were running the world (and let’s not lie, they all had access to great shoes to avoid cattiness) we’d all be a whole lot better off.
