Another week, another round of outfits built from the 25 items currently hanging in my closet. I am beating a dead horse here, and so I will simply say this: I have fallen ill to the matters of reducing. I find myself purging everything, from pantries to toy bins and craft closets to medicine cabinets.
So, it’s fairly obvious from my Instagram feed that we jetted town last week, a spur-of-the-moment adventure that didn’t involve scheduled work for either of us, which basically never happens. I don’t know, maybe Ken and I are growing up? Maybe we’re growing wise and gray and the next step is another minivan or maybe
Another week, another slew of outfits. Want to hear something funny? I talked to my dad on the phone this week (Hi, Dad!) and he says to me, while I’m chopping carrots, something to the effect of: You know, Erin. If you were living a long time ago, you’d have one outfit that you’d wear
I am a woman of my word, mostly, except for the one time I lied to a pug-loving co-worker and said I had a pug, hoping she’d be my friend, but it turns out she had a pug, too, and wanted to set up a dog playdate and was I available next Saturday? And then
Well, I didn’t expect to talk about this today, but here it is and here I am. For the past few months, I’ve been wearing the same clothes – 25 of them – over and over and over. It’s not earth-shattering, the idea of minimalism, and I’d even argue that it’s trendy to be a