The exploding closet

I'm discovering that I have a definite clothes problem. It's not that I have too many clothes, it's that I have too many articles of clothing that don't fit me anymore.

I figured this out today when Chris and I went shopping. (Yes, my husband does shop on occasion and he finds it to be bearable...I think he likes is more than I do. That ain't saying much because I loathe it for the most part) I selected clothes that were too big for me. I had to go back out and get a smaller size.

I know, intellectually, that I'm a smaller size. I know I weigh less than I did over last winter, but the emotional side of me wants to try on 12s. It tells me that 10s are not going to fit at all and that I'll just make myself depressed. I try on the 12s and I waste time because they are too big and I have to go back and get the 10s. Sheesh.

Back to the closet. I'm afraid to get rid of the 12s and 14s. I don't need them, I don't want them. Why do I still have them? The crybaby heavy girl inside me needs them for some demented purpose. Damn! What is her issue?