Owning my mistakes and ne regretteing rien is kind of my “thing,” but these garments are the exception.
In our house there is a 12-year-old girl, a 16-year-old boy, my husband, and me.
At Man Repeller, Callie Ahlgrim has an essay titled “Uh Oh: I Spent Almost $600 on “Self-Care” in June.”
When the bar in my closet collapsed under the weight of all my clothes, I knew I had to do something.
I promise I won’t run this experiment every time Old Navy has a sale.
DOES THE WORD “SALE” EVEN MEAN ANYTHING ANYMORE?
I threw away a lot of stuff during this weekend’s fall cleaning project, and I put even more stuff into “to-donate” boxes.
I do stretch this rule quite a bit—workout clothes don’t count, a tote bag doesn’t count, the like-new Danskos I found at Crossroads ($22.50) didn’t count because, I don’t know, they’re waterproof? Maybe shoes shouldn’t count, period.