911 Heeeelp!

Someone call 911! Bring in the dogs, detectives, CSI, Special Victims Unit, and Major Case Squad.(I guess you can tell I watch a lot of cop shows!) I’ve been violated!

It took me a while to notice, so I’m sure that I’ve disturbed the crime scene, my walk-in closet. The first time I realized something was a little fishy, and just didn’t feel right was Sunday afternoon.

Middle daughter had to sing on a program. Getting ready I pulled out my black slacks and put them on. They were a little snug, and thought they fit funny. So much so, I took them off, and checked the tag. I had to make sure they were indeed my pants. Mr. Husband, saw my confusion over the pants, and commented on their snugness (no it’s not a word). I put them back on anyway, and went on my merry way. That was so NOT a good idea! I paid for it. Talk about a super wedgy

Getting ready for work Wednesday, I pulled a pair of khakis out of the closet. They too were fitting a little snug, and were up my legs. I knew for certain these were MY pants. Since the summer between 5th and 6th grade, let’s say more than a few years ago, I haven’t grown an inch taller. I'm still five feet two and one half inches.

To get into these pants, I had to do the tight pant dance. It goes a little something like this:
Hop, hop, puuuuuull. Shimmy left, shimmy right. Hop – shimmy. Hop – shimmy. Zip. Squat. Breath… squat. Done!

I got smart, and didn’t wear tight pants that day. At work, I’d be in those pants far longer than the hour-long graduation program at a church. One rug burn, minus the rug, is enough for one week. It’s no coincidence that more than one pair of pants are not fitting. Someone has been in my closet altering (shrinking) my clothes, and handling my things.

Mr. Husband says yes, someone has been in my closet shrinking my clothes, all right. The culprits are Coca-Cola, Chessmen Cookies, and A&W Cream Soda!

Book em' Dano!