I have never indulged or more appropriately committed to self-harm, in the form of getting a personal trainer. I don’t take kindly to being told what to do under physical duress. I haven’t ever tried having one, but the need to scream “F*&k Off!!!!” to over-energised bunnies that are aerobics and spin class instructors tells me I might not fair well working with someone one-on-one in physical activity.
The same goes with being pushed to cull my wardrobe possessions.
I have been so good (I think) cutting 66 items out already and that is after moving house 10 times in my adult life (and 3 of those moves were interstate where I really had to cull!). But with the possibility of not being able to live up to my challenge of selling 100 items I need help. I need A Culler. A Psycho Culler. I asked my husband to help (thinking he would revel in the task) but he was a dud culler! He didn’t think I should get rid of any more items! Hopeless. Let the hunt for the Psycho Culler begin.
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