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.