My Shrinking Skirt

"You need to get Son4 up, so we can get the chores done before 8:00," I said to Son3 as I leapt from my chair to get dressed. I walked to my closet in the kitchen (listen, it was either there or in a barn -- kitchen is good), growled, and exclaimed, "I don't have clothes that fit," as I anticipated the quandary awaiting me on the other side of the door.

I opened the closet door, pulled the light chain, and surveyed all the offerings smaller than I. Oh, I thought, that one, and I yanked from the rod a denim skirt I'd bought a few months ago. Gotta love the waistbands in recent fashion, because they're constructed to ride well below the waist. Those of us whose preference is not to mince around partly nude in the first place can buy a size smaller than normal (gotta love it) and wear the skirt at the waist. Now this particular skirt I'd chosen was only barely long enough within this scheme when I bought it. Stuffing myself into it this morning, I tugged and tugged, coaxing it to cover my knees and hoping it would stay put. Mmm, I thought, that's those newest 5 pounds. This thing just keeps getting shorter and shorter. Reckoning the denim would stretch as the day wore on, and the skirt would begin to fall a bit longer, I pulled and stretched the selected sweater, which was once a loose-fitting drape but was determined today to be a second skin, and forced it into place upon my me.

All tugged, stretched, and barely fitted, I strode back to the rear entry to grab my coat. I rounded the corner, where Son3 was donning his outerwear, and I'd lifted one hosieried foot above the neck of a chore boot, when I heard this shrill exclamation: "You're not going out like that!"

Paralyzed in my flamingo pose, I turned to the voice and asked with my own tone of incredulity, "Why did you say that?"

Realizing his outburst had been a little over the top, a more controlled voice answered, "That skirt's too short, and you're gonna freeze," then we shared a laugh. Together, we agreed my ankle-length coat would prevent hypothermia, and the CowNots got their hay and chow. I've chosen another skirt now, though, to finish out the day...and the month...and the year...or however long it takes for that magical little skirt to get long enough again.

In like manner also, that women adorn themselves in modest apparel, with shamefacedness and sobriety; not with broided hair, or gold, or pearls, or costly array; but (which becometh women professing godliness) with good works. ~I Timothy 2:9, 10