I can see clearly now...

It's been a bit quiet on the husband front recently, but I thought that you would like to know what happened yesterday...

A few weeks ago, the husband came to me with that lower lip of his sticking out far enough to hold a vase of chrysanthemums and a scented candle and said,

'I've got nothing to wear...'

Once I got up from the floor (the shock almost killed me), we had what is called in our house 'a conversation'. Basically, he has many, many clothes, but they are crammed into his wardrobe so tightly, that it had become almost impossible to differentiate between shirts and shorts. When bringing his ironed clothes up, I was having to leave it hanging on the door. This was mainly because I knew that squishing them on the rails would render any ironing pointless, but there was another reason. You know when you go into a car park, and the signs reads FULL, and you have to wait there until one car leaves, before one car is let in? Well, that's what his wardrobe was like.  I couldn't put anything in until the worn equivalent had departed.

I explained this very slowly to him, and over the last couple of weeks I have reminded him (not nagging, definitely not nagging) what we'd spoken about.  Each time, he waved me away with a 'I don't possibly have time to do a job which possibly falls into Pink Job territory'.  But Sunday morning, I'd had enough.  Speakly very slowly, but in a tone which implied he was on borrowed time, I suggested that it might be an idea for me to go through his wardrobe, and after an initial weeding, he could then give a 'yes' or 'no' to the items which were sitting on the fence.  Well, you will not be surprised to hear that he was quite happy with that idea, so armed with a couple of large bin liners, I headed up to the wardrobe.

It soon became very apparent that it was his work clothes which were causing the problem.  As you may know, the husband works on a building site, so his daily attire consists of shorts and trousers padded in strange places and T-shirts which you can spot from over five miles away.

Stacking all his work gear up, I summoned him upstairs.  

'Explain yourself, sonny', I said, pointing to the pile of twelve pairs of shorts and trousers.

He had the decency to look sheepish, but it was a battle of wills to get him to agree to throw away eight pairs which looked like they'd seen better days.  Actually, I think it was only the plaster and mortar holding hands which was keeping them together, and as I snatched them from him, I'm sure I heard a small sob escape from his quivering lower lip.

We then started on the shoes.  In the pile of maybes, was one laceless pump.  'That can go', I said, picking it up.

'You can't throw that away', he pleaded.  'What if the other one turns up?'

He got 'The Look' at that point, and no more words were necessary.  After my tough love approach to his wardrobe, it looked beautifully tidy and I stepped back from it with an immense sense of satisfaction.

Now he really doesn't have anything to wear...


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