Did this shirt shrink?!... A true story.
As I was getting dressed to play volleyball a couple of days ago, I pulled on a new favorite shirt, one my wife had purchased at the end of summer, when I was at the peak of my weight-loss success. Though it didn't seem to fit quite right, I shrugged and craned my neck, hoping for the proper adjustment would fall into place.
Head cocked to one side, my wife said, "Hold your arms up like you're going to jump." The 5-year-old little lady stopped bouncing on the bed long enough to watch. I raised my arms straight up over my head, mimicking a block. I felt a cold breeze at my midriff.
"Oh... No, no, no... That won't do, hon," my loving wife stated.
"Why?" I dumbly questioned.
"Just do that and look in the mirror."
I just looked down. Even from that angle, my belly button winked at me.
"Did this shirt shrink?!" I exclaimed, exasperated. The little lady giggled.
"Daddy," she said, "I love your boobies." She bounced over on the bed and poked them.
No man ever wanted to hear that prior to an athletic event. Or ever. With a grimace, and a half-hearted "love you" tossed over my shoulder to the girls, I changed my shirt and and proceeded to play my best volleyball game since high-school. (I was darn proud of me! I pulled my [considerable] weight!) Were the events connected? Probably not. At least I hope not. Getting my pride crushed isn't a pre-game ritual I'd like to repeat.
I wonder, though, do the folks on the other side of the net ever think, "Hey, that's the fat guy who can play!" For now, I think I'd be OK with that. In the future, I'd like to hear that exact statement without the body description.
Updates to come.
Many blessings, all. Take care!