Loud and Clear

A couple of weeks ago, I experienced true, raw fear.

No, it wasn't when I realized I couldn't indulge in a new pair of open-toe wedges. Though that comes close.

It was in the middle of the night. Brendon was offshore. And I heard the loudest middle-of-the-night sound since the hurricane.

I sat straight up, heart racing, totally blind. Five seconds of terror to remember I sleep with an eye mask...that's why my glasses wouldn't go on may face. Another five seconds to properly remove retainer, remove eye mask, don the glasses (yes, I'm very pretty in bed).

At this point, I can tell the closet light is on. I've also begun to process the sound. Other than super loud, it was kinda...metallic. I kept thinking a tree had hit the house, a fair consideration after the three that kissed our roof during Ike.

But everything was silent. Including my eerily illuminated closet. Pulse racing, I peeked out the blinds, expecting to see a huge trunk where it ought not be.

Nothing.

Suddenly, I was certain the noise had come from inside. Perhaps the closet! (Why oh why do I think these things when I'm scared? An intruder decided to bust inside and...raid my closet? Surely everyone knows by now that there's nothing remotely new in there! And of course he'd turn on the light to do so.)

Suddenly even more terrified that I might not be alone in my room, I run out into the living room. Nobody's out there, and now I'm thinking I ought to go outside and drive away. But all I can think about is pants. As in, I'm not wearing any. I can't go outside and get in the car without pants!

Agony. My heartbeat actually hurts. I wildly check out a few more blinds, still seeing the very boring nothingness out there.

And then Reason finally decides to saunter back. Took her sweet time. She suggests I go back to the closet, the only thing that doesn't make sense in this otherwise-normal-1:30am scene.

I approach the closet, trembling and pantless, rather like cops approach bad guys on tv: back against the wall, sliding toward it, then whirl around to face it!

And it's a mess. Suddenly, my adrenaline gives way to irritation. Messes usually bug me, what can I say?

And I realize that the waves of clothes flooding the floor are the result of the 3 shelves that decided, just minutes before and during my peaceful, albeit unattractive slumber, to detach from the walls. With gusto. With noisy gusto. Flipping the switch of the light in the process.

Ah, relief. Ah, embarrassment. Ah...maybe there are too many clothes in there.

Oh, no. My closet is communicating with me.

Is there any more obvious way for an overstuffed inanimate object to tell me that I could stand a good Clothing Purge Session? Shannon, GIVE SOME OF YOUR CLOTHES AWAY.

Okay, I hear it, loud and clear. My closet spoke, and I listened.

Which is how, in the midst of total shopping abstinence, I managed to produce a skirt for Goodwill.

Brendon raised an eyebrow at the singularity of my donation, but I did point out that it was a big skirt, quite heavy in fact, and that some girl out there with generous hips would love it. And that it should make our closet breathe a bit easier. In case it should decide to give me another midnight message.

And just in case, I now take my jammy pants to bed.