Somehow, the clothes in my closet are shrinking and I don’t know how it’s happening. Such a travesty!
This morning I went to my jam-packed closet to look for clothes. I was getting ready to leave for a business trip and I needed clothes for my suitcase.
As I tried on various outfits (a girl has to have choices), I noticed one very obvious consistency; all my clothes were quite snug.
In fact, some of them were busting at the seams…much like my closet was. This also reminded me I needed to take over my husband’s closet as well.
This is not the kind of news I needed just before a work trip, so I tried to ignore it, much like I continue to ignore the pile of laundry stacking up in my closet, and anything that comes out of Kim Kardashian’s mouth.
I went to the kitchen to grab a snack, and to drown my sorrows in sugar. As I ate my holiday cookies with chocolate frosting, I wondered what could be going on with my clothes.
I knew he wouldn’t tell me if he shrunk something of mine, as I’m not sure our marriage could last another laundry debacle. The wool sweater incident of 2009 is still fresh in our minds. (R.I.P. cream J.Crew wool sweater. I miss you and your sassiness).
As much as I wanted to blame this on my husband, I knew it wasn’t logical to do so.
This time…but the next time my Us Weekly goes missing, it will definitely be his fault.
It didn’t make sense that he was shrinking all my clothes, as some of the snug items were dry clean only. Unless he was in cahoots with our dry cleaner, that wasn’t the answer.
If he was in cahoots with our dry cleaner, then he’s a horrible negotiator, as our dry cleaning bill should be a lot lower.
I poured myself another hefty glass of milk and thought about other options. Were they making lower quality clothes because of the sinking economy? Maybe that was it.
After one cleaning, all the new clothes shrink because of the poor quality of fabric. Yeah, that was an option.
I was sure the Occupy Wallstreet people would agree with me there. It was obviously the manufacturers’ fault.
As I made my way to the bag of chocolate covered pretzels, the realization hit my like a pound of cheddar cheese. It wasn’t the manufacturers’ fault that my clothes were so snug. That was illogical.
Nope. The real reason my clothes were so tight was because criminals were obviously coming into my closet at night and shrinking my clothes. Yes. That was the logical explanation.
Sheesh! How illogical could I be thinking it was the manufacturers’ fault? Sometimes I swear I live in a dream world.
So every night while I was fighting for leg room with my dogs, a crazed maniac was coming into my home, shrinking my outfits.
Although I should have felt violated knowing I was a victim of a horrible crime, in some ways I felt relieved. Finally there was a logical answer for why my clothes were tight.
But who would come into my home at night just to play a mean prank on me? And then I remembered something…I remembered the kid who came to my door a few months ago looking for a “lost cat.”
I knew he was staking out my house but I didn’t know why. Duh. How could I be so blind? He was clearly the criminal playing this cruel joke. I was totally on to him.
Excited that I figured out the mystery, I treated myself with chocolate lava cake and ice cream. But then another possibility washed over me.
Was I gaining weight and getting fatter? Could that be the reason my clothes were shrinking? Maybe they weren’t shrinking at all, but rather, I was expanding instead. How could that be?
I wiped the chocolate sauce from my mouth and considered this possibility. Perhaps it could be weight gain. But that couldn’t be it because I had a personal trainer.
Granted, I hadn’t seen him in a few weeks and the people at the gym probably forgot who I was already, but weight gain just didn’t seem like a logical explanation.
Or at least it didn’t seem as logical as the criminal sneaking into my room at night theory.
And how could it be weight gain? Everyone knows that holiday calories don’t count. Surely my clothes got that memo as well?
I grabbed a bag of peanuts for a snack and headed back to my room to take another look at my closet.
I figured I needed a way to lock it each night to prevent such crime from continuing to occur. That was really the only way to stop it.
I was happy I knew the cause of the problem, because as GI Joe would say “Knowing is half the battle.”
Although I don’t think that’s the case for the girls in my Econ 101 class in college. For them, knowing wasn’t half the battle, but rather “big boobs and slutty clothes won the war.”
At least I knew what was causing the discomfort in my clothes. I could rest easy knowing I got to the bottom of this mystery, and to the bottom of the box of Cheez-Its as well.
I decided to celebrate my discovery with some homemade pasta…and a pair of sweatpants!