Little hangers, all the same.

Tonight I thought I’d offer a scary glimpse into the way my mind sometimes works.

Over the years, I have accumulated a variety of plastic clothes hangers in a number of different colors. There are pink hangers, purples hangers, peach hangers, green hangers, white hangers.

When I moved into my townhouse a few years ago, I decided that the only way I could live with all those colors in my wonderful new closet was if each color held a different type of clothing.

So my summer pants were all on pink hangers. Short sleeve shirts on green. Sweaters on peach. You get the idea.

I spent a lot of time figure out the numbers. I had 14 short sleeve shirts and only 12 pink hangers, so they’d have to go on green even though there were 18 of those.

Then I had to make sure everything went back on the correct color hangers when I did laundry.

Frankly, the whole thing was a bit exhausting but I couldn’t seem to stop.

And I certainly wouldn’t have been able to sleep at night knowing that the colors were all mixed in the closet. Just the thought of a peach and purple hanger next to each other on the rod gives me the chills.

Finally I decided I wasn’t going to be a slave to my multicolored hangers any longer. I went out and spent $5.67 on more white hangers.

Now all my clothes are on white hangers, no matter their season or purpose, and I have a big bag of pink, purple, green and peach hangers to give away.

It’s oddly satisfying.

I don’t know why something like mismatched hangers bothers me so much and a closet of full of only white hangers makes me so happy. I really do have better things to think about.

The nice answer is that I simply like everything to be ordered and organized, but I’m afraid it’s more a symptom of mild OCD.

Oh well, if they come to take me to the funny farm at least I won’t have to worry about a closet full of mismatched hangers while I’m away.

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