He has the bug. It overtook him without warning and is as insistent and annoying as a mosquito visiting his ear canal. Acknowledging what must be done, he goes into his closet and begins pulling out clothes and trying them on. Yes, they’re his clothes, and not his wife’s – not that there’s anything wrong with that. Just a point of order.

First to be tried on is the flight suit that he last wore over thirty years ago. Does not fit, he finds. Hell, it can’t ever be tugged over his shoulders without his spouse’s help. It’s surprising how much it’s shrunk since he last put it on. He keeps his Air Force service dress uniform out of nostalgia, even though it also shrank.

Business suits are next. He formerly wore a lot of them during his time in marketing but hasn’t put one on for almost twenty years. They have also shrunk. He makes a mental note to google why some closets make clothes shrink. Maybe it’s the way he’s storing them or something. Jeans, pants, and shirts are pulled out, tested, and put into neat piles. In an hour, he’s collected three towers of clothes which have shrunk. He’ll donate them to charities.

The shrinking worries him, though. Maybe he should move his other clothes somewhere else before they shrink.

Yes, maybe, he decides.

Maybe.