The Quest

Like many, I awoke this morning and began pondering the eternal questions, like, is my head getting smaller?

I wasn’t being facetious. My new Tilley hat had arrived. When I put it on, I discovered it was much larger than my other hat. I confirmed the other was a seven and a half, so the two hats were the same size.* Ergo, my head must be shrinking.

Walking about with my oversized hat on, I entertained the other questions that often plague modern humans.

1. Am I gaining weight or are my pants shrinking?

2. Are my pants getting longer, or am I getting shorter?

3. Is it possible for me to be both gaining weight and getting shorter?

4. Can my pant legs be getting longer while my pants waist is shrinking?

5. If something really had 1/4 the fat of the regular stuff, can I really eat four times as much?

6. How much beer can a beer drinker drink if a beer drinker only drank beer?

These are serious questions. The one about my shrinking head especially worries me. I can see myself as a man walking around without a head. People would probably soon start head-shaming me, shouting, “Hey, there’s little head,” whenever I pass.

There’s family precedence. My mother, who was much taller than me when I was a child, now seems to be about the size of a garden gnome. She appears to be shrinking more in every dimension every time that I see her. I figure that soon, we’ll be able to hear her, but not see her, unless she stands at the right angle and in the right light. It’s like, “Okay, I see her shadow. Let me just trace that back to her.”

Alas, like others, I found no easy answers to these questions. That’s probably why they plague us.

The quest goes on.

*Editing note: Yes, I know that not all sizes are equal sizes during the modern industrial age. Most people must try on several sets of garments or shoes of the same size before finding one that fits right. Hence, there was one shortcoming to the Tilley replacement hat process: it’s predicated on the idea that all of their hats are the same size.

Unflooftested

Unflooftested (floofinition) – Objects, locations, or people who have never been exposed to animals once they’ve been acquired as new.

In use: “She worried about her new black sweater and how it would fare; Kathryn had two cats and one dog, and the sweater was unflooftested.”

Floofmaging

Floofmaging (floofinition) – a pet’s attempt to claim a person by putting fur on the person’s clothing, typically by sleeping on clothing when the person takes it off and puts it down.

In use: “As soon as he took off his coat and put it on the chair, two cats approached, intent on floofmaging the coat for themself.”

Rebel, Rebel

As I was dressing today, I decided to wear brown shoes.

Like many people — not — my shoes choice drives my attire. As my grandmother used to say, “Start at the feet, and dress up.” (She didn’t.)

Season, weather, and plans drive my shoe choice. I’ve found that I’m uncomfortable in sandals in the fall and winter, usually because the day starts out nippy and doesn’t get warm. I’m not much of a sandal person anyway. 

Which takes me to the brown shoes. 

Once I decided to wear brown shoes, the pants and shirt were easy, since it was cool, forty degrees, sunny, with sixty-two degrees anticipated as the high. Since I was wearing brown shoes, I needed a brown belt, right?

Time out. Wait. Hang on. 

Why did I need a brown belt?

Because that’s how I’ve been socialized, normalized, and conditioned. Brown shoes, brown belt. I heard it from Mom, wife, girlfriends, and others. It’s like, why? WTF difference does it make? 

So guess what this rebel did?

If you guessed that I put on black shoes and a black belt, you’re wrong. I’m wearing a black belt with brown shoes. 

Yeah, pretty far out, right?

I’m such a rebel.

Dreams of Change

Last night’s dreams were all about change. Of what I remember, one was a vignette where I made coin change for people, including my wife and other family members. Another sequence featured me searching for and trying to change my clothes, which originally were white and light gray, and then trying to change my shoes. That moved into me trying to change the cat kibble, and being totally confused about what I was doing and why I was doing it. An additional series had me helping others change things. In one, I helped my father and friends trying to change a tire.

They’re laughable in the morning light. I realized that each scene and story shared elements.

  1. I was confused about what I was doing and why I was doing it.
  2. In the end, nothing that I set about changing required changed.

It was amazing. I’d make change for peoples’ dollars, and then they’d discover that they had the right change and didn’t need anything. They’d thank me and move on, leaving me standing there with change. The tire that we were trying to change was okay, just a little low on air, giving us a laugh. My clothes were the best choice, so I ended up not changing them, and the people with the other clothes suggestion left, and the cat kibble bowls were full, and the cats were eating them, so, confused, I realized, nothing was required of me.

Hmm, I wonder what message I’m trying to convey to myself with this night of cryptic dreams?

Between Holes

I’m caught between holes. One hole makes me feel like my pants are sliding down, so I’m always hitching them back up. Using the next hole on my belt puts pressure on a back nerve that ends up being a hole of pain and discomfort.

I ask my clothes and body, “Can’t you guys get together and work this out?” They reply, “It’s not us, it’s the belt.”

Maybe I’ll shop for a new belt. He’s been with me a long time, but I need to re-consider his position.

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