By: Melissa Ratliff
There’s a monster in my closet. I’ve never seen it, but I know it’s there. It thumps late at night, sending shivers down my spine, opening the door ever so slightly with a drawn out creak as I cower under the sheets. And don’t get me started on the clothes. I hang them by color so they’re easier to find. So why, I ask, did the yellow silk blouse end up next to the purple peplum top last Thursday? Or how did the blue polka dotted dress get sandwiched between a red sweater and burgundy pencil skirt? Exactly. The monster.