I won't lie, it has been known that people describe me as a bit OCD. Anything from stationary (I find it physically impossible to use a pen that has lost its lid) to books (lined up on my bookshelf in size and thickness order, and then colour coded), it needs to be ORGANISED. My wardrobe is no different. All cardigans together, hung in order of longest to shortest. T-shirts in colour order, then long to short sleeve, then plain to motif. There's even a section within each colour for 'cropped'. As you can imagine : a LOT of upkeep, which mean's I'm on of these people who throws things away on a regular basis; "yes I know I've only just bought this top and worn it once but now I'm not sure I like it and I can't have it cluttering up valuable space" and all that.
There's very very few things in my wardrobe over two years old, with the exception of one pair of jeans:
Five years old. £10. Primark. Bought as a size 8, stretched through sheer wear and tear to around a 12. No elastic left in them, colour faded from grey to near white, rips, stains, and need pulling up/adjusting to avoid any builders bum embarrassments at least once every 12 minutes. Mum's exact words were "well they don't owe you anything". She's not wrong, but it is a bit like loosing a pet or something.
It's probably about time to let you go old friend. We've shared some good times (falling off the swings down Claredon park and out on the town with the girls to name but a few) and I will always have the memories. RIP.