Is there anything more thrilling than cleaning out your closet? Not emo, Eminem-style, but going through things and throwing away all of the old clothes that don’t fit, or remind you of a really bad date, or just don’t “work” any more? I’m sure there are things that are infinitely more exciting, but when your life is as boring as mine is lately, it’s pretty darn exciting to have everything clean, new, and organized by color and style.
I cleaned out a pretty hefty bag of clothes and decided to take it to Crossroads Trading Company to see what they might be interested in purchasing. I have old school loyalty to Crossroads, because when it first had a store in my hometown, they were very open and happy to buy my wares. OK, partially because I was working for the Gap/Old Navy/Banana Republic call center and was buying clothes and recycling them like whoa. Don’t judge me: I had a ridiculously amazing discount, and no bills. My wardrobe was awesome, if I do say so myself. Slowly, as I’ve gotten older and more likely to wait for things on the sale rack at Target and Crossroads has slowly been populated by 16-year-olds in tights and skinny jeans, we’ve sort of grown away from one another.
I used to easily walk in with a bag and have them purchase all but three things. Now, if they take three things, I’m freaking delighted. Today was one of those days. I came in with a heaping trash bag, and they took three things. Still, it was enough to get an ADORABLE shirt I’m in love with, a pair of jeans, a ring and earrings, all of which were half-off because apparently, I’m not even fashionable enough for recycled clothes.
As if this weren’t enough, I had to return some shirts to Target. I’ve been more aware of taking better care of myself lately, so I decided to purchase some eye cream, because I refuse to be wrinkled at 30. While it was totally my choice and not the suggestion of some stranger, falsely accusing me of some beauty ailment which I do not have it still kinda sucks to realize I’m old enough to need wrinkle cream.
So, that’s me. Your favorite unfashionable, wrinkled blogger.