Irony is funny

Not "funny ha-ha", but more like "funny i-want-to-cry".

I would say, that I've had to work every holiday weekend this year: President's Day, Good Friday, Memorial Day, 4th of July...without fail right before the holiday rolled around, we'd get a big project from a client; or worse, a new business pitch.

And, if I may be blunt, it was getting pretty old. Almost comical. The team would be here at work (and none too happy about it, I might add), while all of our coworkers' Facebook statuses would read things like "Woo hoo! Loving this long weekend!" and "Family party and then to the beach for fireworks!" and "Having so much more fun than those suckers stuck at work!" (okay, maybe I made that last one up).

I think the company realized that certain people were always stuck working on the holidays, so they gave the entire company Columbus Day off as a "thank you" for working.

So basically, 75% of the company got the day off for doing nothing.

But hey, I'm not bitter. I was getting a day off.

To make up for the days off I missed, which included: wine parties, family picnics, out-of-town guests, Palm Sunday dinner, my father-in-law's birthday and dinner with friends.

But I did get a whole day off to make up for it.

A day, when everyone else in my life was working.

A day, to spend alone.

But, being the only-child-super-independent woman that I am, I embraced the fact that I would have a whole day to myself.

I declared it "Closet Switcheroo Day!", which is a fancy way of saying that I was going to replace all of my summer clothes with my winter clothes, which involves lifting heavy boxes up and down 2 flights of stairs, being depressed at things that no longer fit me, and making large piles of clothing to be dropped off at – itch itch – Goodwill.

So the big day arrived – Columbus Day – and guess what? I had to work.

Yep. I had to work on the holiday that they gave us off because we worked too many holidays.

(insert head-shaking and irony-is-crazy musings here)

The good news, was that I got to work from home (my choice), so that I could concentrate on writing. This also allowed me to take half hour breaks every once in a while, to lug boxes, empty hangers and feel faint from the smell of mothballs. (We have a built in cedar closet that we didn't discover until AFTER buying the house. It has proved to be very handy.)

So, after a very long day of writing and switching, my closet is complete.

And after doing some inventory, I've concluded that if someone were to judge me by my closet, they'd think I was some beatnik/depressed/New Yorker, because of the abundance of black clothing that I own.

For example:

Number of black pants: 4
Number of black skirts: 5
Number of black dresses: 3
Number of black sweaters: 4
Number of black shirts/top: 17
Number of black pairs of shoes: 8
Number of black pairs of boots: 5
Number of black jackets: 5

And that's just black-black clothes. That doesn't include anything in the black-grey or charcoal family.

I wear color. I swear.

Today I am wearing a charcoal tweed belted shirt dress, black sweater and...TURQUOISE shoes.

(My undergarments? Guilty. They're black.)