So for awhile I thought I was alone. That I was one of the few who had “The Chair” in the bedroom. The Chair that looks like a chair, acts like a chair–but you never sit in it. I do however stack clothing on it. For awhile it was a mountain of clothing. Clothing I’d try on but toss on The Chair because it made me feel fat or I didn’t feel like teal and why had I even bought that sweater in teal? Or because it needed ironing and I was in no mood to iron. There was some unspoken rule that it was MY Chair. My husband never put his clothing on it. Instead he used a small basket for magazines that is next to his side of the bed. But that was only one or two pieces of clothing at a time. Never the mountain that mine would become. Because heck that would cover up the copies of cycling magazines he was looking for.  My sister lives in another city, in another state..single and we discovered several years ago that we BOTH have The Chair in our bedroom. So sometimes while talking on the phone we’d compare chair mountains. “How high is yours now?” and I did over the past few years start parting with more of my clothing that I’d held on to for too long or for silly reasons. Like jeans I hadn’t worn in skatey-eight years..but I kept them because I liked the size they were. And now I made a pact with myself to put the clothes away that have accumulated on the chair–every Sunday. So The Chair doesn’t hold as many clothes at once anymore. Over the Holidays I sat with out of town family and we talked about The Chair and suddenly all the family members with my maiden name–gave me a thumbs up regarding The Chair. They all had one too. My husband said “Yeah-she puts clothes on that chair..” in telling them about me….My young cute, male cousin who’s now working in Boston said to my husband: “She can’t help it..she’s a Smith!”(fake maiden name here) It felt so freeing..knowing it was genetic. And I would never again have to be ashamed.