Out of the Closet

When Fiorella was young and growing like a weed, much of her wardrobe had to be replaced every year. At the very least, the hems had to be lengthened--or raised, as the style dictated.

Now that she is, uh, mature and shrinking, her clothes hang around forever in her closet. So long that she's started personifying them, thinking of them as old friends. And Fio is nothing if not loyal. They may be a little the worse for wear, but so is she.

But the time has come to sort out whatever doesn't fit, never did fit, or has shoulder pads the size of footballs. Into the donation box, one and all.

Fio is sad.