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.
I am fairly sure there is a professional organizer out there who just swooned. I'm so sorry. Here's one reason I have put this off. My towels are HORRIBLE. Ratty. Tatty. I need new towels. I don't want to spend money on towels but I bristle at the thought of doing a closet makeover and putting those ratty towels in there. They don't fold well. They don't look good. It's going on the list....but that won't happen this weekend.
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.
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