Monday, 20 January 2014

Charity Begins at Home



Getting to the charity shop is more difficult than it appears.

In fact I would go so far as to say it equals a combat training zone without the camouflage gear.  Unless camouflage gear is a rain coat and you’re loading the charity haul into your car in the lashing rain.

I’ll start at the beginning.

Every January I do a de-clutter.  Usually of toys and books.  Clothes get the chop too and anything else that has been hidden away for 6 months.

If you haven’t used it, worn it or needed it for that length of time, say goodbye to it.

Sorting clothes is a piece of cake.  The lads have zero interest in it.  In fact I could be dressed as a clown with a writhing snake around my neck but if I am at the hot press or near their wardrobes, I am practically invisible.

However, if I am on my knees and pulling books from a book shelf or rifling through the toy box that is a different matter entirely.

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing.”

“That’s my toy.  Why do you have my toy?  Is that the bin?”

“It’s broken.  It doesn’t work anymore.  Look at it; Juno has chewed it to pieces.  It’s no 
good.”

“But it’s mine!”

So in order to do a proper de-clutter I need to employ stealth, be covert and quick about it.

Oh, ok.   I need to be a sneaky cow.  There!  I’ve said it.

The other night I dumped an armload of comic books, school books that were two years old and covered in dust plus a realm of drawn on paper into the recycling bin.

I lied through my teeth and told the child who caught me red handed it was a yearly subscription to a magazine I didn’t read anymore so they had to go.

“Yeah.”  Mister Husband was engrossed in his phone.  Or at least I thought he was.  “A subscription to Pinocchio magazine!”

Anyhow, lined up on Saturday morning was a large box of books, several black sacks containing items of clothing I was holding onto in the belief I would fit into them again. 

My six month rule had well and truly been broken; some of those skirts and trouser suits were more than 8 years old.  Who was I kidding?  The office me is long gone.

I piled everything into the car and covered it with bags of swimming gear.

Off we went.  The plan was to drop everything into the charity shop after the swimming pool.  With four kids in the car.  In the rain.  When the charity shop is across the road necessitating several lone trips from the car to the shop.  In the rain.

I have been looking at most of these bags piled up since the end of December.  They were doing my head in. They had to go.

I couldn’t find parking.

I ended up going home.  With several black sacks and a large box of books still in the car.
 

No comments:

Post a comment