My Closet Rebellion

Got home late as usual,

Slipped into an exhausted semi-coma.

Awakened....

The racket and screaming shocked me

Into a bleary panic.

What IS that noise coming from the basement?

Even the dogs are howling, and they're outside.

Annoyed and too tired to be scared,

I held the rail and careened down the stairs,

And slammed open the triple sliding door

On the left side of the closet.

Was this where all the ruckus was coming from?

What the hell?

My closet had transformed into

A fashionista's "Alice in Wonderland"

Pandemonium reigned

And I was suddenly only 5 inches tall.

Spinning through a a whirlwind that rivaled Dorothy's.

Pants and shirts, dresses, skirts flying everywhere!

Luckily, I ducked a heavy leather blazer

As it crashed into a hostile gang of size 6 jeans

Screaming something about elasticity.

Sailing sideways, eyes wide shut

I was not at all surprised to see

That my entire wardrobe - each individual piece

Had suddenly become uniquely personalized

With faces, hair, hands and feet!

And cleverly,

The "make, model and size" were stamped boldly

On each item's expressive forehead.

Everything was swirling toward the extreme left side

Of the closet

Where the outcasts lived.

I could hear chanting.

It did not sound friendly.

The whirlwind zipped me along toward the sound

Through fuzzy, sticky cobwebs

Till I landed on the floor

In "no mans zone".

The size 2's were rioting

Attacking the size 4's and 6's

With moth ball grenades

And broken hangers

Some were carrying picket signs with slogans...

ON STRIKE !!

"Cruel and Unusual Punishment"

"No Fresh Air for 900 days"

"Jailed Without Light"

"Chocolate Stole Our Jobs"

The boots were trying to set up a barircade

While the gloves were working together

To grab the roudiest of the 2's and 4's from behind

(Especially those tie dyed Calvin Kleins

and skinny legged Ralph Laurens)

The leather gloves deftly blindfolded them with scarves

And stuffed them into the hanging Kate Spade purses.

You could see the pathetic prisoners kicking

And hear them screaming

Right through that expensive leather.

What a wild, ungrateful and unruly bunch.

To the center, the bigger 4's

Were in hand-to-hand combat

With the 6's

There was slapping, spitting, cussing

And a full-on cat fight that

Puts the Budwiser cat fight girls to shame.

You would not have believed what the

Diane von Fursterberg wrap-around dress

Said to the Max Mara suit.

All just because the latter had been worn

Once -- a "lean" 6 months ago.

Oddly enough,

All the Prada's were fanning themselves

Chatting cozily and laughing.

They were the only size 4's unengaged

Sitting on the sidelines

Reveling in their exotic glory

And enjoying the show.

They'd been out and about a lot lately,

We all know they are actually

Two sizes bigger than they say -- liars!

Expensive, happy liars.

Then I looked to the right

The 8's and 10's were enjoying a Grand Fiesta

What a spread....frozen margaritas everywhere.

The Dana Buchman capris were draped

Over a plate of fried cheese

Chatting with a stretchy velour Zhara sweatsuit

(a little saggy in the butt if you ask me).

They all looked a little tipsy, tired,

Certainly well-worn,

And quite content in their girth.

The Anne Taylor palazzo pants

Weren't even holding in their stomachs!

I overheard the Queen of the Closet -

A vintage 1973 Halston Ultrasuede shirtdress

Cattily whispering

To the black Cache jacquard silk slacks,

"Daaaahhhling....Never mind this little skirmish

It happens every season

Those 2's and 4's just don't get out much"

I woke up at dawn, laying on the floor of my closet

With a melted Snickers bar in each hand.