Closet Confidential by Mary Jane Maffini Read Free Book Online Page B

all under the roof.
    Wendy said as I followed her down the hallway, “Luckily my boys spend a lot of time in the rec room downstairs. You must be wondering if anyone can even inhale in this space.”
    I admired the framed photos of the boys that decorated the hallway walls. “Wendy, your home is obviously full of love.”
    “That’s kind of you to say.”
    It was a sincere comment. My own upbringing had been in a series of fairly glamorous surroundings with whomever my mother’s latest husband had been at the time. My happiest years had been growing up in Woodbridge when hubby number three, an IBM executive, had been in the area. I’d always envied the kids whose moms made cookies and squares. I’d had lots of smoked salmon and caviar as a child, but I’d hidden most of it behind the designer cushions.
    Wendy had a sheepish grin as she opened the bedroom door. The furniture was probably the same set they’d bought when they married more than twenty years ago. Seemed as solid and enduring as it was dark and gloomy. The closet doors stood open, revealing everything that Wendy was worried I would see. Clothing hung on a sagging closet pole that was so jammed it would be hard to extract anything. I spotted a mix of women’s and men’s duds as well as what looked like uniforms.
    “Is it beyond hope?” she whispered.
    I said, “No way. This may be the best hundred dollars you’ve ever spent.”
    “Really?”
    “It’s a promise.”
    I spoke with absolute confidence. I could see at a glance at least ten minor modifications that would make Wendy’s closet easier on the eye and improve her life at the same time. I liked this woman. She seemed to have no connection whatsoever with murder, madness, schemes, or any of the other plagues I’d faced in recent months. I decided on the spot that if I gave her the lowest possible hourly rate, that was no one’s business but my own. That was the great part about working for myself.
    She sat on the bed and said, “Oh boy, that would be wonderful.”
    “Is your husband handy with tools? Or are the boys? Or maybe you are?”
    “Not me, my talents are in the kitchen, but all the boys are except for Jason. Why?”
    “We’ll probably need the odd bit of hammering and a shelf or three. Do you want to put them on alert?”
    “Sure will. They won’t mind a bit.”
    “So now I don’t want to waste any of our time. Tomorrow I’ll be here with some bins and we’ll sort out your clothing into keep, toss, donate, and sell. Do you want to prepare yourself mentally for the big purge?”
    “Whatever it takes.”
    “Good, then get used to thinking about these questions, because we’ll be asking them over and over again.” I ran through my standard pre-purge queries for her.
    Do I love it?
    Do I wear it?
    Does it fit?
    Is it still in fashion?
    Does it go with anything else I own?
    Does it make me feel good?
    I added, “The only right answer to each of those questions is yes. Be wary of anything that makes you feel bad.”
    Wendy interrupted. “Feel bad? You mean like fat? Old? Dumpy?”
    I said, “You definitely want to turf anything that brings out those reactions.”
    She grimaced. “Might be quite a high percentage.” “We’ll see how that plays out. Part two of the question series goes like this:
    Can somebody else make use of it? Can I sell it?
    Can I donate it to a worthy cause?
    If I didn’t have it already, would I want to buy it?
    Is it too small? Too large? Needing repair?
    Why am I keeping this?
    “I can do that,” she said, nodding a bit uncertainly.
    “It’s all a bit more challenging than you might think. So here’s a little tip sheet to remind you of the questions. I’ll be back tomorrow with a contract for one hundred dollars’ worth of work. I’ll try to keep your costs down by bringing my assistant and letting her oversee the purge. I hope she’s available. If not, we should rejig our schedules to mesh with hers. She’s also a college student,