Rinse out the empty bottles and throw them down the stairs to later deposit into recycling bins. No need to check for foot traffic down there. Anyone loitering at the bottom of the steps, shirking his/her Pesach task, deserves to be assaulted by a hail of plastic projectiles.

Now this is the important part: Shpritz some bleach-enhanced cleanser on an old, ripped undershirt, then scrub down every tile in that shower, with malice aforethought. When Mashiach comes (bimheira b’yameinu, amen! Say amen!), it will be in the zechus of nashim tzidkaniyos who eradicated every last speck of chometz from the walls of their water closets. Don’t you want to be on the dais?

If you make it to the dais, you need to look good, so we will move right along to your cosmetics. You keep buying new lucite boxes, and repurposing mishloach manos baskets, to hold all your creams, sprays, and sticks, but the plain truth is that you have too much junk.

For heaven’s sake, how much lipstick can one woman own?? You have … what? Two measly lips? Why all those sticks, tubes, crayons, and wands? If you were an artist painting the ceiling of a shul, I’d say you were already overstocked.

But it’s so hard to choose. Fire engine red is just so right for … Purim … and that brownish goo that, if properly labeled, would read “playground mud,” could be just right if only your skin tone was a bit tawnier. And anyone can apply lipstick in your traditional tube format, but you’ve spent months trying to master the art of those mini sponge sticks. Sadly, though, you usually emerge from each mini sponge experience looking like The Joker from the Batman comic strips. Actually, maybe we shouldn’t insult The Joker like that.

And the mascaras, each with such fanciful names and cool curved applicators. How are you to dispose of any of them when they each serve such an important role? You’ve got the one that flakes, the one that smudges, and the one that turns your eyelashes into lethal daggers that dry in awkward positions, making it dangerous to turn over in your sleep. How’s a girl to pick and choose?

Then there’s the selection of blushes in every shade imaginable, to fit every mood. There’s Angry Orange, Shy Pink, Raving Red, Perky Plum. If you keep the orange and give the rest away, you’d have to stay angry all the time.

I heard somewhere that Eyebrows Are Having a Moment. When I was a kid, if eyebrows had a moment, it was usually my teacher’s set, knitting in frustration, and I knew that this “moment” would end with a visit to the principal’s office. And believe you me, she was no pal ‘o mine.

Too bad eyebrows are having a moment now, after we women of a certain age have been plucking them into sophisticated, unlikely shapes for years and years. At this point, no matter how many “moments” they have, they will not grow back into the lush optic mustaches that seem to be au currant. So you can’t get rid of the eyebrow brush, touch-up pencil, powder, or tweezer. You need all the help you can get!

Before you actually start sorting your cosmetics into the give-away and throw-away piles, take a moment to unzip the cute little bag filled with skin products that nobody else wanted and you couldn’t resist taking. Select the black package marked “charcoal activated amino lactic propatoid.” Read the fine print carefully to make sure this is not the product you purchased to clean the rust from your plumbing.

If it appears to be a skin-related item, rip the package open and remove the frightening black mask soaked in something that smells suspiciously like Lestoil. Carefully lay the mask on your face and enjoy the drip-drip-drip of the charcoal-activated Lestoil as it slides down your neck. Put on your glasses. Look in the mirror. Consider taking a selfie. Don’t do it. Adar is basically over.

Make believe you’re a highwayman who has come to seize all the expensive make-up that’s dried up, rancid, cakey, cracked, or of outlandish color. Throw it all into Pile B and be quick about it. The mask is starting to adhere to your skin and if you wait much longer you’re gonna have a lot of explaining to do at work tomorrow.

Pat the skin product into your face, neck, and anyplace else it has taken shelter. Feel better now? If you avoid looking in the mirror, you can even pretend you look better, too.

Now it’s time to move on to your clothing closet. Don’t be afraid. Approach cautiously with a friendly smile on your face. You’ll likely be pelted by a storm of large vinyl pocketbooks and old flip flops (the obvious work of closet elves). Jump as high as you can while flinging your arms out to make yourself look bigger. Sometimes clapping will scare them off too.

Once things settle down, drag over your most unsteady chair (the one you can never fold shut unless you are standing on it, holding something fragile). From the tippie-top shelf, remove your kesubah, unroll it, and scan quickly for any mention of a trip to the Cayman Islands. Hmm… I didn’t think so. Rediscover (as you do every year) the shards of your tenaim plate. The ones your closest sem friend promised to send away to the company that makes gorgeous keepsakes? The friend you told all your deepest, darkest secrets to? The one you are kind of mad at right now, but you can’t give her a piece of your mind, because … you don’t remember her name?

Take a shmatteh soaked in bourbon (No, kidding. Fantastik.) and swipe at that top shelf. This will bring down a shower of dust and small insect parts. When you stop coughing, make a mental note to ask someone taller than you to do this next year. Put the items back on the shelf. Proceed to the next shelf. Take down dozens of boxes of shoes. Admire each pair (like those gorgeous champagne slingbacks with the high heels and small platforms), remember why you never wear them (‘kept walking out of them), consider giving them away, decide that deciding will take too much mental energy, wipe the shelf, and put them back.

Move your sheitel heads to wipe beneath them. Make a mental note to get your Shabbos one set for Pesach. Then slip off the collapsing chair and move right along to the items littering the floor of the closet: those pocketbooks and flip-flops.

Lift the pocketbooks, one by one. Examine closely. Is the color eerily reminiscent of the neon tetra fish your kids enjoy watching at the aquarium on Chol Hamoed? Does the interior smell like the interior of the fish tanks? Is the style so outdated that even the Salvation Army would say it’s beyond salvation?

If so, place the item in Pile C. The items in this pile must be dropped off anonymously at your local second-hand store. In the dead of the night. While wearing dark sunglasses, a black fedora, and a trenchcoat.

Repeat this process until the floor is uncluttered and Pile C is as tall as your toddler/youngest walking grandchild.

This is it. You can’t procrastinate any longer. It’s time to tackle your clothing!

Survey your closet honestly. Note that it’s stuffed to capacity. Admit that, despite this fact, you have nothing to wear.

Survey that long, sagging rod overloaded with articles of attire. Take a long, hard look at yourself in the full-length mirror. Don’t flinch. Now review your skirts and dresses. Remove any item that

1. Never fit you to begin with
2. You haven’t worn since the Carter administration
3. Came with a jacket you haven’t seen any time in the last decade
4. Would fit your preteen daughter or eldest grandchild, perfectly

Put these items on a strong surface that can handle a lot of weight.

I don’t need nevuah to know that you have only selected four or five outfits to give away. You can’t bear to part with this or that gorgeous outfit. You are thinking, if only I lost “a few” pounds (you were never good at math), this suit would look great on me!” Well, I have news for you:

• Nobody wears suits anymore. Except men.
• That outfit was in style when you were in 12th grade
• If you ever lose 15 to 20 pounds, you deserve a new outfit, girlfriend!

Out they go. Into Pile C. Promise yourself a cookie for every skirt you give away. A diet one, naturally. Otherwise how will you lose those 15 pounds?

Speaking of cookies, since you have now been working on your closet for close to two hours, I will allow you a short coffee break. On your way to the kitchen, peek into the dining room to see how your husband is faring with the seforim. Catch him stretched out on the recliner rereading The 19 Letters for the 19th time. Ask him to look through his closet and determine if there is anything he’s prepared to give away.

By the time you press the 10 oz button on your Keurig, he will be downstairs with an armful of suits, shirts, jackets, ties, and pants. You may ask him if there is anything left in the closet. He will assure you that he still has a few pieces of clothing left, and will dump his giveaways on your kitchen table.

On your way back to the bedroom closet, resolve to have the most trusted member of your household (the cleaning lady) vacuum out the pockets of your outfits when she comes on Friday. You will know she is doing a good job when you hear the vacuum make a loud mechanical slurping sound, stop completely for 30 seconds, belch, and then continue to work. This means she has found that dirty tissue in your sweatshirt pocket.

We now return to the closet for the comedy portion of our program: The hats and costume jewelry.

If you’re anything like me (you don’t have to admit it publicly), you’ve collected over the years an odd assortment of hats. Mostly black or grey, they are a testament to the fashion looks you have bravely tried. If you need any convincing to add them to Pile C, pick one at random and try it on. Look in the mirror and imagine meeting your son’s rosh yeshivah. Or your new mechutanim. Comfortable? I thought not. Pile C. Now. Before you lose your nerve.

Let us now turn our attention to the faux jewelry. See that chain of metal rings and plastic beads draped over the jewelry stand, dangling without benefit of a clasp to hold it together? Why is it still there? You just couldn’t throw it out before the big pre-Pesach purge, could you? Well, here’s your big chance. And that choker with grey lucite flowers as big as your head? OUT! The delicate earrings you ordered from Ali Express only to realize, when they arrived, that the photo was not an enlargement? And each earring is the length of your forearm? PILE C.

It’s almost time to knock off for the day and start thinking about dinner. Take everything in Pile C, load the items into garbage bags, and put them into your car for drop-off tomorrow at the Metziahs Place.

Put Pile A into a ziplock bag. Pile B goes into a Wesley Kosher Bag. You will need to find them a temporary home just for a day or two until you have time to deal with them. Quick! The inmates are getting hungry!

Okay, just stuff them into that corner cabinet. You might have to push them in with some force. Because there’s already a ziplock and Wesley Kosher bag. Last year’s Pile A & Pile B.

The next morning, resolve to get the bags of clothing to the Metziahs Place without delay. Keep this thought in mind all the way to work. You will then realize that you forgot to drop them off.

Have no fear. You can drop them off on your way home. Drive to the store even though you’re running late. Shlep the giant bags to the door of the shop. Notice how dark it is inside. Read the sign on the door: “WE ARE CLOSED NOW AND DON’T EVEN DREAM OF LEAVING THOSE BAGS HERE. YOU ARE BEING WATCHED.”

Heave the bags back into the back of the car. Head home. When you arrive, move the bags from the back seat to the front seat, leaving only a very minimal amount of room for you to sit. This is the only way you are sure to remember to drop the bags off in the morning.

Morning dawns. Skip breakfast or you won’t fit in the seat beside the humongous bulging bags. Pull out of the driveway and rejoice that you will soon be lighter of lots of stuff you don’t need.

A moment after you leave, a minivan will pull into your driveway. A small, well-dressed woman will step out. She looks a little like you. Maybe older, but better preserved. She’ll drag two huge trash bags to your front door. The woman will knock but there’ll be no answer. She’ll drop the bags on your front porch, take a piece of paper from her pocketbook, and scribble something on it, leaving the paper on top of the bags. It will read:

Hey, Sis —

Sorry I missed you. Just went through my closet and found these really nice things that are too big on me so I thought they might fit you. Some of them are not in style anymore but I knew you wouldn’t mind. I also threw in some make-up in colors that don’t suit me (or anyone, really) but I thought you might like it. Anything you don’t want, just drop off at the Metziahs Place.   

CHAG KASHER V’SAMEACH!

(Originally featured in FamilyFirst, Issue 637)