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I have a lucky dress. Actually, let me rephrase that: I had a lucky dress.
As of yesterday, I no longer have that lucky dress.
I do however, have a very organised wardrobe.
For a long time, I thought I was the only weirdo who thought a “lucky dress” was a normal thing to hold on to. It turns out I’m not.
I might, however, hold the record for longest-keeping-of-a-lucky-dress. I had it for more than 20 years. There was no chance I will ever fit into it again or, given the state of it, that it would ever even be wearable. But still, I clung onto it.
Until the weekend. I called in some ‘professional’ help – my friend, Louise, who declutters for a living.
Louise is a professional organiser, but she also loves me like a sister, which means she is one of very few people in the world who can say things like: "Why is your room SUCH a fucking mess?" without offending me.
She set her sights on my closet first. Particularly the 'dresses' section. I admit I buy a lot of dresses I've never actually worn, but they look SO cute in the shop. She threw them onto my bed, one-by-one, making noises that signified deep disgust.
"When and where did you ever expect to wear this???" she scoffed, pointing to a lime green taffeta number.
It took some effort to get me to admit it was from my formal and now almost 30 years old. I cried, I interpretively danced, I tried to convince her that it couldn't be culled. She was hearing NONE of it.