Mutiny From My Clothes Closet

I am happy to report that I am  alive and well. I recently celebrated my 27th birthday here. I think I must have some sentimental value because I am still around even though I haven't emerged from this room in more than a quarter of a century. Or maybe, and this is hard for me to comprehend, I have just been forgotten.

I am a pretty cool looking long sleeved t-shirt, on my front an image of a soccer ball, bounded on top and bottom by the town I used to live in and the sport I used to coach (well, assistant coach, if I am telling the whole, unembellished, non George Santos, truth).

On the reverse, the names of all those young ladies, who reluctantly or not, were members of that mostly forgettable team. It was, if not for them, for me at least, the best time of my life.

I was last removed from this closet and placed on the not very broad shoulders of the person who partnered with me on my job in late June of 1998. I know he looked a lot younger than he does now. And he did not complain then about his eyes, his ears, his back, his shoulders, his stomach, his feet. Oh my God, is he ever a whiner.

I see a lot of old friends in this closet. Pants, shirts, sweatshirts, sweaters, even shorts that have established long term residence with me here. But I am the acknowledged elder statesperson.

I have been studying law with all the spare time afforded me, and have taken particular interest in the rule of adverse possession. I believe, at least in this jurisdiction, if one takes over a piece of terra firma for a minimum of 25 years, even if technically that parcel is not deeded in his or her name, then transfer of legal ownership  therein may be deemed to have occurred notwithstanding there being no formal agreement in said regard. Ipso facto. Res ipsa loquitor. Humpty dumpty.

And thus, I am of the opinion that I am now entitled to claim this closet as my own. I do not say this out of anger or resentment at the person who placed me here. I have nothing but respect (his whining aside) for him. But, I feel it my right to be compensated for having spent so many years in this small area, the light of day, the hustle and bustle of existence, outside my view. My entertainment quite, quite limited, terribly constrained.

If (and when) I am king of this kingdom, I have a few plans for remodeling. A paint job on day one (maybe with an image of blue sky with a few puffy clouds on the ceiling). Shelving could be far better arranged. The shoes, now helter shelter, each with a designated cubby. And new flooring for sure. Much better lighting a must.

I have discussed my legal theory and my plans with everyone else in this confined space. Most in full agreement. And for those few who seem to scoff at my words, they should be aware that I have a long memory.

Anyway, a human is now opening the door to gain entry here. So I will take leave of you for the time being. When we next speak, I hope it will be from my old home that will then be known as MY new home. 

My closet. MY closet. The stuff dreams are made of. Habeus Corpus. Pro Bono. Henny Penny.