Desperation

I can’t believe I’m about to say this…

but…

I think I may have too many pairs of shoes.

(ACKKKKKKKK!!! HELP!!! SHIT!!!!!!!!! THE WORLD AS WE KNOW IT IS OVER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! RUN SCREAMING NOW AND REPENT! REPENT!  HELLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLPPPPPPPPP!!!)

/freak out

Actually, no.  No end freak out because this is just fucking wrong.  A girl should never have to lament about having too many shoes.

Here’s the dilemma.  As I have mentioned over and over and over again here, I’m selling my house.  The house that I live in.  The house that still has all of my STUFF in it.

In an effort to showcase the beauty of the house – which is for sale – and detract from the beauty of all of my stuff – which is most definitely NOT for sale… I’m getting rid of shit by the truckloads.  I’m giving away furniture and appliances.  I’m hauling literal truckloads of crap to the local Goodwill.  I’m throwing away huge contractor garbage bags full of shit.  I have filled dumpsters full of crap too big or too nasty to haul or give away myself.  I’m also jamming a storage shed full of the shit that isn’t exactly shit – the things I do indeed want to hang on to, but that don’t need to be out on display for the parade of potential buyers to ogle.

Because really, this has nothing to do with making the house seem less cluttered and everything to do with avoiding the inevitable ogling.  Jealousy is a mortal sin.  I’m just trying to do my part here.

ANYway – I’ve cleaned out my closet.  It looks twice as big now and that’s grand.  But in doing so I had to leave myself only one over the door shoe rack.  Which is supposed to contain all of the shoes that my husband and I intend to wear until we move.

No problem.  I wittled and sorted and cleaned and tossed and put away into storage until I was left with just enough shoes to fill the shoe rack.

Fuck.  I was still wearing a pair.  So was my husband.  I threw away two more pairs of his – problem solved.

Shitfuck.  I left a few pairs in the bathroom.  And at the bottom of the stairs.  And under the couch and the dining room table and my desk.  Hmmmm….

Well a nice neat row of Heels To Hang Onto In Case I Am Invited To Something Fancy lined neatly below my dresses won’t be too bad.  Yeah.  I can make that work.

My husband then informs me that we are getting rid of the chest of drawers in our entry way.  And, yeah, it’s time for that to go anyway.  No problem.  Ummm…. except… cocksuckin’ son of a bitch.  That is three drawers jam packed full of shoes.

(I feel like I should disclaim here that those were not all my shoes.  My son had one pair of flip flops and my husband had a pair of Doc Martin sandals in there.  Those things are kind of big and take up space.  Seriously.  I do not have a problem.)

So I have now sorted – again.  Cried, weeped, kissed and said my goodbyes – again.  Thrown away, given away, and packed away – again.

And I am still left with about 10 additional pairs of shoes that I might have a very legitimate reason to wear sometime over the next month or so before we move out of here.  I mean you just never KNOW what a girl could encounter.  Aren’t our mothers always telling us to be prepared?

Do people look under beds when they go to look at a house to potentially buy?  Because seriously, I am running out of ingenious places to store these fuckers.

Oh. Shit.

I am wearing a pair of sandals right now that I had not previously factored into the equation.

And I just found two more pairs under my desk.

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