My Fancy Dress Shrunk in My Closet
I was recently at a wedding in the Columbia River Gorge. It was gorgeous, the bride and groom were gorgeous, my dancing was not gorgeous, I probably looked like a pelican that was being poked by a stick held by a gigging beaver, but it was fun.
First, though, I had to find a new dress, oh woe is me.
Why? Because somehow my one “fancy wedding dress” had shrunk, on its own volition, without my permission, in my closet, and now I could hardly get the zipper up. In fact the zipper got stuck a little above my waist. My waist!
I envisioned yelling at Innocent Husband to run upstairs zippity-quick for my clothing emergency. I would suck my stomach in with all my might, ask him to put his foot on my buttocks, then yank the zipper up to my neck. It would be a marital moment.
I then envisioned my waist sucked in tight, like I was in a whale bone corset of olden yore.
I wouldn’t be able to breathe or talk, my lungs flattened in my suffocating dress, and I would have to mime to Innocent Husband to yank the zipper back down lickety split.
He would look at me curiously and say, “Why is your face turning red, honey? Why are you hitting yourself on the back?”
Then he would think – in a panic – that I was choking and he would, intending to be a helper, whack-whack me on the back between my shoulder blades.
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