I live in a 1950s ranch. I love it. The downside is it only has one bathroom. Apparently bathroom needs have drastically increased over the last 60 years. No one would build a house with just one bathroom now. It's real estate suicide. The bathroom is the size of a sardine can. Well, not really. But it's small. In fact, so small that I can't get a full picture of the bathroom closet. I can't get back far enough.
I'll have to show it to you in segments. It's worse than I thought. This picture reminds me of seedy 1970s movies that leave you feeling creepy. How did it get so bad? I am so ashamed of my closet. The time has come. Please don't always think of me this way. Please come back and see the finished results tomorrow night. I can't believe I'm about to show this.
What will happen this weekend is merciless discarding. Old medication. Empty cleaning supplies. Broken hair appliances. Old make-up cases. Old make-up. Half used bottles of shower gel, bad shampoo, old self-tanner, and glycerin soap. I hate glycerin soap. It's a personal thing. If it smells good, it works perfectly as a sachet. Otherwise, no thank you.
Alright. I must do my day job - but this is where I'm spending my leisure time this weekend. Wish me well.