Getting into my pants?

(NOTE:  The system is giving me formatting problems.  After
wrestling with it for 
about an hour, I've given up.  The words are all here.....)

I'm a stuff person. That's who I am. I love clothes,
shoes, jewelry,
make up, china, knick knacks, furniture, candles, cookbooks, utensils,
bowls, rugs, frames.....Oh shit, let's face it, I just love it all.
To put it simply--I adore stuff. Anyone who knows me will tell you.....
"she has a lot of stuff". I'm not a minimalist. I'd like to live simply.
Sort of. Well, not really. But, the idea of it seems nice---no clutter,
serene, peaceful, environments, quiet, stress free. But,
I don't like bare walls.
Or empty flat surfaces. I don't like unadorned ears, necks,
wrists or fingers.
Lips should not be nude. In fact, adding a little lipgloss over
your lipstick is a good idea. And,shoes are a must---no matter
what
the time of day or night (unless, ofcourse, I am sleeping).
If you have to go barefoot...for heaven's sake be sure
to have your toe nails painted. Something bright.
More is good. Excess is best. So, simple living is out for me.
If I want serene---I just have to go to a spa.

Given my penchant for stuff.....I'm sure you would not be
the least bit surprised that I am also somewhat of a pack
rat. Not really a pack rat per say. I don't like rodents.
I just save things. Lots of things. And, I cram them in my attic.
Oh, and in my basement.
And, in the garage. And, in the 3 storage rooms in my basement.
Oh, and under my bed. And,
in the closets. And, even in my office (at work!).
So, with all this stuff,
I can rotate things a lot around the house--seasonly or when I just grow tired of
a look. You can visit me one week and I'll have a certain decor.
Come the next week and I've changed it. I also get bored easily, I guess.
But,I'll save that issue for another discussion. Anyway, I just go shopping
in one of my overfilled storage areas and whala! new stuff appears!
It's fun.

But, one thing that hasn't been fun for the past few years is being
forced by my ever climbing weight to send all of my favorite clothes to my
massive cedar closet in my attic. In fact, over the summer, it became so
filled with clothes that did not fit me, the sturdy pole they were hanging
on gave way. It's almost as if it said "that's enough!"
The saddest part of that episode is that I had to take all
of the clothes out of the closet so that it could be repaired.
It was hard. Looking at those clothes. Some of the my
favorite blazers,
suits, pants, skirts, sweaters, blouses, formal attire.
Some things still had tags
hanging from them---bargains I got at the end of a season with the hopes of
wearing them the following year. I never did. But, I saved those clothes.
Well, most of them. A few years back when a friend's husband
passed away and she
had to re-enter the workforce, I showed up one day with an entire
van filled
with Size 10's & 12's. As I was hauling them into her house, she looked at me
in utter disbelief."You'll never wear those again?" she asked.
"Not in this
lifetime. And, if you gain any weight, give me a call,
I have an entire wardrobe of
14's and 16's too. And, probably soon you could have the 18's as well."
She never
called. I guess she's no a lifelong dieter with an obese gene
like me. As any life
long dieter can tell you---size changes are a way of life. Having "fat clothes" is
not a joke.

But, the story gets happy

Yesterday, a beautiful thing happened. I descended the steps.....no, no.....I floated up
the steps...while beautiful music played....I glided into my attic store as soft lights danced about the room. I tenderly opened the cedar closet as my hair blew in the summer breeze that sweetly billowed through the window. And, I gazed upon my beloved clothes.
I gently reached my well manicured hand between 2 perfectly pressed pair of pants. Then, I pulled one of them towards my breasts and caressed them. As the lights dimmed, I danced around the room like a giselle (yes, a giselle...).
And, then, as a hush fell over the room, I daintily placed one foot and then the next into those pants. With a sway of my hips, I wistfully glided them over my leopard print hi-cut briefs. And, then, as my soft fingers reached for the zipper, a lone spotlight
engulfed me. And, as the zipper moved up, the theme from "Rocky" began to play.

Yes, it all happened right there in my attic.