My closet

I stood back and proudly looked at my thinned out closet, a pile of clothes I hadn't worn in 6 months sitting on the floor.

"See? Now I've even color-coded the shirts," I pointed out the row of shirts to Matt that I was so proud of. Never again would I take navy blue instead of black when I picked blindly in the mornings.

Matt raised his eyebrows, pursed his lips, and nodded politely, walking out of the master bedroom.

"I have 6 black tank tops. Do you think that's excessive?" I asked.

"Noooo..." Matt said, lying.

"Crazy, maybe?" I said, trying to find the term.

"I don't think 'crazy' is the right word. I think it's a term you're looking for. Like 'you have too many fucking black tank tops,' " he said from the hallway on his way down the stairs.

I looked back at my closet.


"But it's such a slimming color."


I got no response. I think at that point, he had tuned me out.

Can't say I blame him.