Sometime in the wee hours of this morning, whilst I was happily snoozing away, the most humongous sound rattled our house.
You know what it's like when you are abruptly woken from a deep sleep and you aren’t quite sure what's going on. I actually am an "instant on" type of person, so the sound was still rattling in my ears while I tried to figure out what was happening.
For a moment or two I actually wondered if something had hit our house (in which case I would have been hoping for a meteorite, because that would look really cool in the study).
My wife (Gina The Gorgeous) said she thought the sound had originated in our walk-in closet, so I set off to investigate. Oh my goodness gracious me – what a sight met my eyes – it was like someone had exploded a "Hawaiian Shirt Bomb."
The problem was twofold. First, I love Hawaiian shirts (that's pretty much all I wear in the summer months … well, I also wear shorts, of course … you know what I mean!). Second, I haven’t thrown out any of my old shirts in decades.
The sad fact of life is that Hawaiian shirts shrink with age. I know this because the ones I used to wear years ago no longer fit me. Furthermore, for reasons known only to themselves, the manufacturers of Hawaiian shirts have conspired to change the definition of the sizes they use – I no longer fit into what they laughingly call an XL these days – the end result is that I constantly have to add new shirts to my collection.
Thus it was that when I retired to my bed last night, my side of the closet looked like a souped-up version of the image below.
Imagine, if you will, a set of long, floor-to-ceiling, wall-mounted racks groaning under the weight of more Hawaiian shirts than they were intended to handle. That's the way things were when I laid my weary head down to sleep.
Now try to visualize what things would look like if a whirlwind had passed through the closet – shirts flung all over the place and piled high on the floor – twisted metal shelving units everywhere – and items of clothing I'd forgotten I even owned (like a "Crocodile Dundee hat" made out of tarpaulin) thrown into the mix just for fun.
It took me more than an hour just to dig through the shirts and dump them in the spare room to be processed later. If the truth be known, I have been meaning to sort through my clothes and send the unwanted items to the Goodwill store (I've been intending to do this for years now). Well, now the universe has taken matters into its own metaphorical hands – I know what I'm going to be doing this evening!
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