Wanderlust Subdued

But sometimes I look at my hangers and feel a glimmer of Wanderlust. Yup, my hangers. Because my hangers have been where I have never ventured

I am happy at home. I like knowing how my bed will feel before I climb into it.I like knowing what I have stockpiled in my pantry and what’s waiting in my fridge and freezer. I know how my laundry will smell when it emerges from the machine and I know where spare rolls of paper towels are kept. I’m grateful for my house and my backyard and my family. I like to putter about in my home.
Since the pandemic has arrived, I am home a bit (gross exaggeration) more than usual, but that doesn’t keep me from enjoying the familiarity and reliability of my home. I know which faucets will drip and I know which buttons are missing from my duvets. In a constantly shifting life, that’s no small comfort.
I refer to myself as a Young Mommy in my head. Even though I do have two married children, my youngest is in Pre-1A, and I’ve not yet reached 45 so, yes, I’m sure that I’m young. As a Young Mommy, I don’t get out much. Sometimes my husband and I will bribe others to watch our kids while we run off for a night or two. We stick to the Tristate area because when you only have 48 hours you aren’t going to waste much of it traveling. I’m okay with this system. I take what I can get.
But sometimes I look at my hangers and feel a glimmer of Wanderlust.
Yup, my hangers. Because my hangers have been where I have never ventured.
You don’t believe me? Go to your own coat closet and look inside. Unless you’re the kind of housewife who stocks her coat closet with matching black padded felt hangers you’ll understand what I’m referring to.
Just this morning I took my mustard colored cardigan off a hanger that said: Phoenix Cleaners. With fascination, I read the whole thing: A masterpiece of expert cleaning… full service… 125 E 18th Tulsa, Okla.
This is amazing. I have never been to Oklahoma. Neither has any of my family members. As far as I can recall, we’ve never had guests from Oklahoma. How on earth did it get to my bedroom closet?
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