Want to clean a closet quickly? Do it when you’re grumpy and clothes you’ve kept for no good reason for years will fly into the discard pile simply because you’re in the mood to not like anything.

After a mere 35 minutes, six garbage bags and a box were filled and the car was stuffed with Goodwill donations. That’s if Goodwill wants them. Most of the items predate “Good Will Hunting.” Some are almost as old as Matt Damon, for that matter.

The speed of the purge was astounding considering I had to contend with the guys’ “help” and pleas to keep clothes.

“This one is so soft,” Big Guy said, stroking a silky champagne-colored New Year’s Eve dress, circa 1988. “Do we have to give it away?”

Yes, we do, because I cannot think of an occasion where I would ever wear it even if it were remotely close to fashionable – and with its linebacker shoulder pads, open back, drop waist and slit almost up to the fanny, it has no chance of making a revival.

Others he grabbed before I had a chance to change my mind. The pink and turquoise madras blazer fell into that category.

“Why did you buy this? You hate pink.”

“It seemed like a good idea at the time,” I said, remembering that “at the time” was during a lunch-hour shopping spree at my favorite deep discounter back in the day, when I could land a designer suit for $10. The store was next to my bank, which was close enough to my office that I could do serious damage on pay day.

Some he defended, not because he liked them but because he knew I did. Outfits such as the short pleated black skirt with white polka dots and the matching waist-length jacket trimmed in red.

“But you love this!” he protested.

“I don’t really like it that much anymore.”

That outfit was the one that fueled my bad-mood mania into frenzy. It dated back to the early 90s, and I remember walking into my allergist’s office one day and seeing the receptionist wearing the same clothes. Eeek! I thought. She’s way too old for that.

She was about the age I am now. Eeek!

That’s it! I vowed. Everything in this closet that is old enough to drink, every shirt with a chest-eating bow, every skirt so skinny I will never squeeze my thigh-ranosaurus rex into it again is gone.

Don’t think you’re getting a break either, Back East wool suits. Why I moved more than a dozen of them to California I can’t recall. I did keep the ski suit, though, because I’ve actually worn it in the past year.

Past year? That rule doesn’t apply, because if I followed it there would be little left. I’ve had to look presentable only a dozen or so times since I started working at home 10 months ago. I have to keep some things on the off chance I ever have to survive more than four days in a row without my sweats.

But I do not need 10 white blouses. Or six wool blazers. Or three corduroy jumpers. Or two pairs of harem pants. I only need one, to pair with a banana clip for an instant Halloween costume.

I can’t wait to hit the dressers today. I know there are leg warmers lurking there.

Copyright 2009 Debra Legg. All rights reserved.

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