A noise woke me from sleep. It didn't come from my dog Doris, who was cuddled and quiet next to me. Nor could I blame my upstairs neighbors for the mysterious sounds. I investigated further, and learned it was coming from my walk-in closet. Fearful an intruder had slipped into my apartment, I palmed my iPhone ready to call the police.
But before taking that step, I bravely opened the door a smidge, and it was then I learned that my wardrobe -- jeans, trousers, summer and winter tops, even shoes -- were grumbling amongst themselves.
"It's disgusting," I heard the black-and-white patterned blouse carp to the scoop-necked sweater next to her. She was so riled up that her clothes hanger thumped as she spoke.
"I know, I know," responded the sweater. "Everyday, the only thing that ungrateful old lady wears is a t-shirt and leggings. No matter the season, the same obnoxious get-up."
A pair of jeans snickered, "You know why she loves those leggings?"
"Elastic waistband!" jean pals and trousers chorused.
The chest of drawers in the bedroom must have overheard the nearby commotion and the top one spit open with this: "No underwear! Did you guys know she is bare under her beloved t-shirt and leggings? It's obscene."
I was embarrassed, but in my defense, I always wear an overcoat or vest outside the apartment; no one is aware I'm sans lingerie.
Since the gabby gang couldn't hear me, they continued their bashing. Then, sobbing from a sleeveless blouse. "I feel so used," said the one decorated with the alphabet. "When she got her second tattoo, she wore me or a mate every damn day! She thought she was so cool; an 82-year-old with two tattoos!"
She was right; so enamored by my ink -- one, a heart celebrating my artistic offspring, and the other a seahorse, honoring my accomplishment of finally learning to swim at age 79 -- that I flaunted my biceps when possible.
"I'm pissed," from a long-sleeved sweater swirling its empty arms. "I was there for her in her hour of need, and then, ta-ta-toots."
A faux silk shirt with cuffs that buttoned upwards sniffed, "Costco. Vacation. Weather got cold."
I couldn't believe how my clothing had turned on me. I was grateful my shelves of shoes had stayed silent, but then a pair of sandals slurred,"You all are sickening. Just because she hasn't worn you for six months, you're complaining. What about me? Us?"
"She's right," a pair of leather high-heels, added. "She gave up wearing us years ago! Why has she kept us locked up in the closet? She could have donated us or dropped us off at a thrift shop. At least then, we'd have a chance for a new life. New people to appreciate us."
Actually, that's a good idea, I thought, and promised myself I'd gather a collection and leave them in a charity box.
While I was congratulating myself for my benevolence, my pair of gym shoes drawled. "Y'all are just jealous because she wears me every day. But ya gotta understand, she's elderly and I keep her safe on her dog walks."
I really appreciated my Sauconys for standing up for me, and thought the rebellion over. But then I heard a small voice peep out, "Masks. She's fallen in love with masks."
"Right?" posed another. "She must have collected 50! Protecting her wrinkled face while the rest of us hang helpless and abandoned."
A screech came from the bathroom, easily accessible from the walk-in closet. Moisturizer, foundation, concealer, lipstick, mascara, and eye shadow tumbled out of a slid-open drawer.
"What about us?" they sang out as if in a glee club. "She's ignored us all! Just because her face is tucked away under her mask, that's no reason to go around looking so, so..."
"Plain?" one of the club offered.
"Ugly?" said the mascara. "So she wears glasses, she shouldn't leave her eyelashes naked."
There were giggles from the group that derided my lack of underwear under my preferred costume. I ignored them, but then I thought, perhaps a bit of cosmetics could cheer me up? Perhaps the next morning I'd accede to their suggestion.
But on the whole, while my wardrobe and makeup were just expressing their opinions, until I get the vaccine, I'm sticking to my comfy clothes and masks. My disgruntled duds will just have to be patient and hope that when I'm out and about, I'll drop my daily t-shirt and leggings, and pull old friends off their hangers.
Then again..