There's also hear grumbling coming from the other end of the closet. That's where my former fat clothes live, and they are pissed. Along with a couple of dresses there's that expensive black cashmere coat, perfect for going to the symphony or to a funeral. It looks ridiculous on me now, more like a bathrobe than anything else. Fortunately I haven't needed it since moving to Maine as the only funeral I have attended was in the summer. As for the symphony, people wear jeans and flip-flips to everything in America's Vacationland, including funerals I found out.
The loudest noise comes from the shoes lining the closet floor and dispensing a cacophony of boos, taunts and bitter complaints over not being worn despite how attractive they are, how very supportive, and how much better than the $27.00 plastic Crocs I have sported since the snows melted last May. I assure them that winter is coming so at least the boots will soon have their day in the sun. Well, you know, their day.