Drawers

I have a sickness. They say for certain sicknesses the first step to recovery is admission so this shall serve as my admission. Wait, is that the right word? I'm admitting my sickness. I confess.

I'm addicted to drawers.

So today is one of those come-to-Jesus laundry days where I have five loads and tons of folding and some hard decisions to make. I had been robbing Peter to pay Paul with respect to my underwear storage situation. Meaning, some quantity always had to be dirty or else I wouldn't be able to put it all away. But thanks to my brilliant upstairs neighbor who left his tub on all day which then flooded my bathroom and bedroom (my loo is ensuite) earlier this week, I had a massive pile of dirty beach towels to wash. So I figured I'd get up early today and wash EVERYTHING and handle this drawers business. By the way the neighbor apologized with a box of tasty treats from Kyotofu, a cool Japanese bakery nearby...which only kind of annoyed me further since I'm trying to get back in top shape. That's bitchy, huh?

What idiot does this? I lost two hours of sleep to the dripping.

 

Does this make up for my lost sleep and disfigured wall?

Anyway so at this moment (I'm taking a break, my hands are chafed from all this daggone folding) every single panty, bra and lacy thing I own is clean and dry. Except of course the set I am wearing. This fact forces me to confront an ugly but common truth. I DON'T HAVE ENOUGH ROOM! This is the perpetual New Yorker dilemma which makes us disconnect ourselves from our worldly possessions even though the world out there probably thinks we're hopelessly materialistic. We just want the few things we have space for to be really fabulous. Gotta make that one little closet count.

I've just purged everything that has become undesirable for one reason or another. Wires poking out, saggy elastic, bought in a moment of insanity, wrong size, bad fit, muffin top creation...etc. And guess what? I have just enough room for my bras, which take up effectively two drawers. Two drawers of drawers. But wait, that's just the bras not the panties. For every single bra I own I have at least one pair of precisely matching panties. Then I have additional panty inventory coordinating (gotta co-oooordinate) with my bras, for when I shower and change and keep the day going after working out at the gym, and just to have extras, cuz you never know. One thing you do not want to run out of is clean panties.

On the way to the trash since you can't sell it on consignment.

Let's discuss the actual quantity. I have exactly 78 bras exclusive of sports bras of which I have six. This means I have AT LEAST 150 panties of which only 10% are butted (as in not thongs). Maybe I have 200 panties because I really take it seriously when Victoria's Secret says 5 for 25 bux. In this count are only three white bras which for some reason strikes me as odd. Lots of black (12 black only, several more black and something) and nude/mocha/brown. But also lots of purple - 9 bras are lavender or purple, and 8 are pink or mostly pink. Only one navy blue. Actually if I include the navy/white striped one that's real old but holding it down like it's new, I have two.

The predominant brand is Vicky's, obviously, because that's good cheap stuff that you can run for about a year. Plus let's just say I don't fall in the category of needing a serious bra for support's sake, so Vicky's is fine. I also like Calvin Klein, DKNY, On Gossamer and Cosabella. Cosabella is more a panty thing for me because their bras suck. DKNY can be a bit pinchy sometimes. No La Perla or anything über fancy in there yet but maybe one day. 

This count was taken after the purge (see above) and does not include any formats outside of the range of bra and panty, ie tank top/panty sets and other stuff for very special occasions. Which I hope to have some of sometime before the decade is over. That stuff is hanging on padded satin hangers in my closet hopeful to one day get some attention again.

I've been this way for years and years and years. I wonder if it is an odd obsession.