I am not getting larger – my clothes are shrinking.
This does not sound like an Occam’s Razor sort of solution to the button-busting problem of my too-tiny garments. Logic dictates that I probably gained a few pounds at the wrong places. The systematic shrinking of all of my clothing by a single size is probably not the answer.
This sent me into a paroxysm of obsessive weight-checking. I would catch my sneaky body gaining a pound like catching a kid with his hand in the candy dish. I would also keep my hand out of the candy dish.
Nothing. I actually lost a pound, sans candy dish. So, lesson learned, on that front.
I was stumped, and also barely squeezing into my jeans. So, I went with my gut (oh, the puns) and called the plumber. I’ll mention that our plumber already thinks I am a little crazy – he’s the one that put a new spigot on the side of the house after I crashed the car into the old one.
“I know there is no cold water,” I explained on the phone to his service, “because I cannot fit into any of my clothes. Also, they all steam when they come out of the wash.”
That’s what the plumber and I discussed yesterday while the washer spun empty, bone-dry circles on the cold cycle.
“Looks like it’s not getting any cold,” he said.
“Yup,” I replied.
“But there is cold coming out of the wall.”
“Yup,” he replied.
“So why isn’t the washer using it?”
I feel relieved and empowered by this revelation. I was not growing, for real for real. My clothes were shrinking – for sure. Now I’m wondering what other unobvious, Occam-defying explanations for problems in my life I have been dismissing in favor of the most likely answer.
However, there’s still the matter of half of my clothes no longer fitting me.
“Hey,” he said, as he reconnected a hose to the port on our wall, “how’s that new spigot working out for you?”
“It’s great.” I paused. “Actually knowing I have a few extra inches on that side of the driveway makes it easier to pull the car. I’m not as worried about hitting it, so I just do the whole thing better.”