Always true to you in my fashion

I'm a little bit fuzzy on the timing and I really didn't see it coming, but some kind of terrible, ka-blam! whoosh! explosion went off in my closet. (And the floor outside my closet, and the shelves next to my closet, and the dresser by my closet.)

What the eff is going on in that corner?! It's a big blender of expensive and cheap chic all tangled and mangled and bleeding, crying out: "Hang me up!" And, "I cost way too much to be tossed carelessly on the floor!" And, "Get those black stilettos off of me!" And, "Respect the Prada!"

Where's the stop-acting-like-a-thirteen-year-old-when-you-get-undressed Matron shaking her finger at me each day (several times a day)? More importantly, where's the clean-up crew?

Really, I'm such a girl.