Beware the Closet, BEWARE!

As many of you may have noticed by know that most of my stories of me barely escaping death occur at work. Now you may wonder why I keep going back to such a dangerous place. Instead, maybe I should just stay in my safe and cozy home. But o no, home is not as safe as it may seem.

When I was shopping for a new home in Peachtree city I looked at houses, condos, duplexes, apartments, and anything else with four walls, a floor, and a roof. I decided on this dream duplex. It has two patios, a fire place, two bedrooms, a kitchen with 27 cabinets, and a closet. Not just your regular closet or those walk in closets. This closet is the closet of all closets. It is literally bigger then my freshman dorm room. I could do a cartwheel in my closet (if I could do a cartwheel). And the place was the cheapest of all the places I looked at. I had found my new perfect home for my new perfect life in Georgia. At least that is what I thought. No one could have expected what was going to happen next.

I loved my closet. I fit ALL my clothes, shoes, and packed life with still ¾ of it being empty. Like any extremely prim and proper young lady that lives by herself, I kept the house spotless. Well, okay I did put one of my t-shirts on the new wicker basket I bought and put in my Huge Closet for my socks. The t-shirt sat there for a long time, after all there was plenty of room, no need to pick up when you could still see the floor. But then my closet decided to make its move. I walked into my closet and move my t-shirt and saw powder. That’s right powder. It looked like a line of coke that I tried to wipe up with my shirt. Had I moved into a drug dealing closet home?

After closer inspection, I discovered that the powder had come off my shirt. The paint that was used for the t-shirt print had come off and turned to powder. I was stunned, but then I decided that it must have been a poorly made t-shirt and that the wicker basket must have rubbed off the print some how. I went on with my life unaware of the true horror that lurked in my closet.

A few weeks later, I was moving my priceless peace of art into the large closet. Yes, that is right my Starry Night by VanGogh. As I carried it into the freakishly large closet, I kicked my pair of flip flops to move them to make room for the painting. And there it was. Powder.

My poor powdered shoes (click on picture to see the powder up close and personal)

My shoes had turned to powder! My plastic shoes now powder. What can this be!! At first I was scared that there was chemical in my house, or maybe bugs, or maybe that powder pooping monster that found me after all these years. I thought I got rid of that monster when my family moved out of that house when I was 3. But there it was, powder. What was causing my clothing to turn to powder?

Then I realized that my powder turning closet may not be a bad thing. I could sell it as a new diet plan. That’s right! Step right up folks turn that wide @$$ of yours to powder! Then I thought of all those poor girls that fell asleep in the tanning booth and looked like an oompa-loompa when they woke up. Could I take the liability of the death by powder closet? I’m too young for jail! Then I realized, I sleep by that closet, every night!

What have I done!? I have moved into the home of the Powder Closet! Like so many twilight stories before me, I am trapped. Maybe not in the tv where cartoon characters are trying to kill me but worse. I’m stuck in a year lease. Please, do not talk too loudly, the closet might hear you. If anyone knows a good priest that performs exorcisms, please help me. Shh, I think the closet is waking.

The Huge Closet