Every now and again, when I let my husband take on the chore of laundry, he gives me reason to smile. Secretly, of course.
After all the sorting, once the first load has made it through both the washer and the dryer, comes the step of folding the laundry. And every time he folds my clothes, he feels the need to exclaim, “Your [insert clothing item] are so TINY!” Last night, as he folded my jeans, I learned that my pants are indeed as tiny as the rest of my wardrobe.
Upon hearing how tiny my clothes are, I feel compelled to pout and throw a fit, just as every 4 year-old does when you are so bold as imply that they are not a “big kid.” I insisted that my pants are not tiny, and are, in fact grown-up lady pants. Because there is nothing that will convince someone how “large” and “adult” you are more than insisting that you wear grown-up lady pants.
My clothes really aren’t tiny. In fact, as the years go by, I find that they are slowly getting bigger and bigger. I hope, though, that my husband will forever be entranced – and surprised – at their tininess.