How to Get A Great Start on a New Year – Organized Closets
October 2009: Consider organizing the hall closet.
April 2010: Remind yourself that you meant to organize the hall closet last year.
June 2010: Lose a child, locate child inside the hall closet.
October 2010: Suffer minor closed head injury from wine canister falling on you from the top of the hall closet.
Early December 2010: Mention to your husband your intention to organize the hall closet.
Mid December 2010: Commit to organizing the hall closet on your holiday vacation.
Late December 2010: Hope no one remembers your commitment to organizing the hall closet on your holiday vacation.
Morning of last day of holiday vacation December 2010: Husband asks if you were planning on organizing the hall closet. Remind husband that California is a community-property no-fault divorce state and that you know where the 401k funds are.
10:00 AM, last day of holiday vacation: Resign yourself to organizing the hall closet.
10:15 AM: Select mid-quality 140 proof liquor, pour three shots.
10:17 AM: Down final shot.
10:20 AM: Turn on playlist, dance around hallway to The Beatles “Twist and Shout.”
10:21 AM: Find your organizing groove.
10:22 AM: Misplace organizing groove in the hall closet.
10:22 – 11:15 AM: Empty hall closet.
11:16 AM: Advise family to avoid main hallway as throughway access no longer exists. Ignore desperate questions called from within their rooms about food or bathroom use.
12:30 PM: Refold 3,416 towels.
12:31 PM: Curse the makers of Clearasil and other towel-bleaching topical acne treatments.
12:32 PM: Curse the cats for using the towels as a scratching post.
12:33 PM: Curse your family for needing towels.
12:45 PM: Start digging through box of old pens. Locate remains of Jimmy Hoffa, the Crown of Nefertiti and potsherds from the lost city of Atlantis. Locate no working pens.
1:16 PM: Have hallucinations involving the elusive Rubber Maid, patron saint of household organization. Crawl in bleak desperation through the piles in the hallway toward this vision, certain that if you can touch her apron she will grant you three wishes. Decide emphatically that you will waste NO wishes on the organization of the hallway closet and plan tropical retirement instead.
1:17 PM: Reach the vision only to discover that what you thought was the Rubber Maid was actually one of the cats perched on a tower of wicker basket holding 14 years of receipts and cords to the BetaMax video recorder that you sold at a garage sale in 1987.
2:40 PM: Demand that your husband explain his need to maintain possession of three sets of Scrabble and an incomplete game of Clue. Mock husband derisively.
3:15 PM: Shout for the children. Demand that they line up, boot-camp style. March up and down in front of them like a deranged domestic drill sergeant shaking crumpled and unusable rolls of wrapping paper in front of their faces. Shriek at them about the national security threat that they are creating by stuffing rolls haphazardly into the back of the closet. Continue shrieking. If any of the children attempt to interrupt, explain, or shift blame stand face-to-face and scream at full volume, “AS YOU WERE, PRIVATE!!” Ignore tears or pleas for discharge.
4:00 PM: Place the last box of fully organized light-bulbs into its place in the closet. Distribute copies of the org chart to all family members. Require signatures of cooperation and compliance, witnessed, in triplicate.
4:30 PM: Refill shot glasses. Add an extra 3 for good measure.
It’s New Year’s for god’s sake.