The Judge and His Hangers
by Will Bailey
Hang on. I’ll be with you momentarily. I just have to untangle this mountain of clothes hangers. It should only take about seventy-five years. That’s because, for some reason, Wife I and I have accumulated a wide array of hangers of various shapes and sizes. I have no idea where they came from, or what those little hooks on some of the smaller models are for, but I do know that we are slowly drowning in a sea of hangers. What’s worse, I suspect that some of the hangers may be reproducing, as every day there seems to be a strange hybrid-hanger that possesses half the genetic code of a trouser hanger and half the genetic code of one of those flimsy paper hangers that looks like a kite-gone-wrong. The problem is that neither Wife nor myself can bring ourselves to get rid of these superfluous hangers, because then we would be faced with a far scarier reality: using the dresser. The second we run out of hangers, we will have no choice but to get a running start with a handful of clean laundry, form tackle the already-bursting-with-fabric dresser and shove the pants and shirts down its throat like a manic dog being fed heart-worm medication. Thankfully, that dark day has not yet reared its ugly head. As long as we keep our surplus of hangers fed and healthy, we’re in the clear. Heck, we might even take some of them to the park this weekend. You know, to get a little exercise. Just don’t be surprised if you see some of the paper ones in the DPW trash barrel.