November 4, 2022
It’s time to take out our winter box. With space shared between my husband and me, you can imagine the overflow every season. Unfortunately, we’ve never had a lot of closet space, and even if we did, my husband is the type not to let anything go. (Don’t even get me started on his hat collection!)
A clear sentimental box lays tucked away with torn, old, and worn-out t-shirts. Each graphic resembles an array of odd shapes, like pieces missing from a puzzle. They’re shirts he’s attached memory to, and no matter how much I’d like him to adopt my Marie Kaunda loving heart of “less is more,” it ain’t going to happen. So many battles have ensued, and the arena is always a 4×4 square. The spectators? Smashed clothes barely hang on to the side of a hanger—most of which were never worn. However, season after season, it’s the same fight, and season after season, it ends the same way. With a reluctant wave of the white flag on my end. Partly because there’s no changing my husband and partly because I feel ridiculous arguing in the closet. I hold on to the hope that a day will come when I walk into the closet and only what we NEED lies inside. I’m sure his version looks like something else entirely. (Insert facepalm here.)
So here we are—the first week of November. The Central Valley finally cold enough to switch out my blouses and dresses with knit cardigans and no-hole jeans. I am determined to only focus on what I let go of, what I store, and what I keep hanging. An affirmation rings loudly at the top of my mind. “I will not fight with my husband; I will not fight with my husband; I will not fight with my husband.” I won’t bother asking when he will grab his winter box out of the garage. I am resolved not to be there when he finally switches things out and hoards (excuse me, stores) everything he won’t wear or need again next year. Because I love my husband, and if after 12 years of having “too much” of something is one of our biggest arguments, I will gladly count myself as blessed instead of stressed.
To my husband, as you are reading this, I want to let you know… “You WIN, dang it.”
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