Mary Milan and I decided to start our Spring Cleaning today. Our plan of attack was to clean out our closets and take clothes that we don’t wear anymore (the garments from our respective fat periods) to the Crossroads Trading Company in WeHo to get some cash money or to trade them in for some hot “recycled” skinny clothes that we would actually wear.

“I’m afraid they’re going to laugh at us,” I said just before we set off to Crossroads.

“Laugh at us for what? Those bitches work at ‘Crossroads’…ooooo, I’m scared.”

“You don’t understand…”

“Come on, let’s go.”

When we walked in, two Arbiters of Recycled Style (ARSe) looked at us and sneered. They said nothing as we stood aimlessly near the counter where they were judging and evaluating an older lady’s S.Q. (style quotient). Happy that she had been judged worthy, the older lady told us to sign a sheet to officially be on the queue.

They called Mary Milan first. She brought up her five bags of clothes which ARSe #1 rifled through, placing each item off to the side with machine-like efficiency.

“Sorry, we just didn’t find anything we can use. Thanks for coming in,” she said.

As Mary Milan packed up, she wished me good luck. Her voice quivered, as if on the verge of tears.

I was sure I’d do better than Mary Milan because I had a bunch of Donna Karan button downs, Armani slacks, and a $750 Hugo Boss blazer.

“Sorry, we just didn’t find anything we can use. Thanks for coming in,” said ARSe #2.

We left having sold not a damn thing. Not one goddamn thing.

Can you believe it?  Our S.Q. score qualified us to ride the style short bus.  We were so demoralized that we didn’t even want to try another used clothing store for fear that we would just get laughed at for being so legally retarded in fashion.  “Burn the reminders of trauma!” we screamed.  “Burn! Burn! Burn!” 

Instead of making a bonfire, we resolved to drive to the Goodwill on Vine to give it all away.

As we unpacked, a bunch of people vultures swarmed aound us. Some milled about our car as we unpacked the trunk, casing the goods we had in our bags and yes, there was one woman who outright asked Mary Milan for the dresses that she had in her hand.

Mary Milan immediately recognized the double bind that she had been put in (i.e., yes, we were giving this stuff away but we were doing so in hopes that others could participate in the process we know as “the economy”) but was caught so offguard, she said, “Sure. Which one?”

“Both of them,” the woman said.

This woman was about 5′5″ and 180 pounds. What does that matter? Mary Milan is 5′10″ and about as slender as a toothpick. What made this woman think that she could fit in these dresses?

Mary Milan handed the dresses to her and that was like a signal for the rest of the vultures to descend. We finally fought our way through to the donation center, dropped our bags off and peeled out of the parking lot, leaving all of vultures behind to fight over the scraps.

After about fifteen minutes of silence in the car that we spent recovering from the trauma, Mary Milan finally said, “Spring Cleaning totally humilated us today.”
“I know. I’m really hurt by how Crossroads treated us,” I said.
When we got home, I started stress eating. Dammit, I might need my fat clothes back from Goodwill.

Speaking of which, if you’re in the market for some really nice dress shirts, jeans, and t-shirts, we suggest going to the Goodwill on Vine in a few days. Maybe the vultures will have left something for you (or found out they’d never fit into the stuff we “donated”).

We are preparing for the battle this weekend in the Spring Cleaning war: putting up shelves. Pray for us.

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