Honey, I Shrunk My Pyjamas

I hate clothes. One in twenty outfits actually fit my 5' 3/4" curvy frame, and within those are the ones that shrink, fade, unravel or pill. Most of my pants are rolled once or twice (I am either a poor seamstress or very lazy - Okay, both) because they are too long.

And the dog chewed my favourite shoes.

Of course I still wear them - if you look closely, you'll see a large bite mark out of the leather on my right heel.

Who remembers trying to shrink their jeans in hot water? Or pinning the bottoms to look like skinny jeans? Now I want them loose, flared to the extreme, and in some magic material that does not change it's colour or shape.

I rue the day I need elastic band waists (gasp).

So this morning at 11:30am, as I scarfed a DELICIOUS blueberry fritter in the Tim Horton's parking lot, I secretly apologized to my 3:30am self who'd lain awake, frustrated at the pyjama bottoms that had shrunk, yet again, in the wash.

Darn dryer.