Write a new post in response to today’s one-word prompt.
The only closets here are the ones with skeletons in them.
I assume there are also a few empty closets set aside so that people can be closeted together discussing matters of great weight and import, but as I don’t qualify for one of these, I’m relying on hearsay and hearsay is notoriously light on juicy details regarding their size, shape, fittings, fixtures and general decor. I suspect none of it’s very inspiring, since these meetings rarely produce interesting outcomes.
The skeletons in Australian closets have turned out to be pretty disappointing as well, at least so far. There may be private ones that rattle their bones with satisfactory fervour, but none of them have been enough to pique the public interest except those popping out of the Rinehart closet, which sort of don’t count. They’re more a matter of dysfunction than secrets, and besides, the Rineharts are so rich that if someone is getting a billion or two less than they consider fair, the general response is ‘I should be so lucky’.
In the national arena, there was the odd love child attributed to the odd (very odd) PM, but this proved to be a fizzer. Turned out it wasn’t his, which disappointed him a lot at the time: he’d been trying to use the poor young man to boost his argument against abortion. The same ex-PM also has a gay sister, but there is nothing skeletal or closeted about her, god bless her. She made it clear that she was not a fan of her brother’s rabid stance against gay marriage, and the public said ‘You go, girl,’ and went back to its beer.
The media does try, from time to time, to whip up a scandal in the British tradition of sexual skeletons in pollie’s closets, but again, the Australian public can’t get too excited about it, as long as it doesn’t involve misappropriation of public funds – ie, their hard-earned tax dollars.
Regarding the places we keep our clothes – we call them cupboards. Living as I do, mine is extremely small. Spending my limited funds on smart stuff for smart occasions would be a nonsense. I’m covered if I do have to attend such an event, but they’re so few and far between, I can guarantee no one will remember what I wore last time, so a quick trip to the cleaner’s and I’m set.
I’m sure some of you are horrified by this, but I guess I see clothes the way I see skeletons in the closet: can’t get too excited about them.