How I Came Out of the Closet

All of these shirts were in my closet

I need space. Besides all the clutter and stuff that Mark crams into this house, I actually own some of the things taking up valuable room. In the last week I have been thinking about what I have clung to all these years and if I really need all of it. So I've started the thinning. One of the things that probably won't be thinned is my fat ass. I've come to realize that I will never have that thirty two inch waist I last saw in 1997. That is why I've started with my clothes. About once a year I buy some new clothes and jam them into my closet in front of the things already hanging in there. I push and shove, and squeeze shirts and pants in. It makes no sense. At the end of the closet, closest to the door, are about ten things that I wear day after day. Five summer things and five winter things. As you move through, towards the deep end of the closet, like an archeologist you see what I wore in years past. By the time you get to the farthest point you will find clothing over twenty years old. Some, near thirty years old. No way will I ever squeeze into those skinny pants again. I have shirts that, if I were to try and put them on, would either pop a seam or make me look like a string of deli sausages. So I pulled them all out and shoved them into five large trash bags. I then took them down to the Brown Elephant resale shop on Clark Street. I'm not sure if they'll be able to sell all that old crap, it is in the middle of an upscale gay neighborhood. I just can't see gay men walking around with fashion from ten, twenty, or thirty years ago. Unless it's the hipsters. They love that 'ironic' bullshit.