Overcoming My Slothly Ways

Lest you think that on every weekend, I'm as industrious as I was on this one, let me update you on today's productivity.

* Finished Ready Player One, a book that, if you grew up in the '80s and have any affinity for the video games of yore, you must read.

* Updated my GoodReads accordingly and demanded that my best friend and at least three others finish and or read it poste haste.

* Browsed the library book sale and scored 30-plus books and a few movies  for a mere $20.

* Successfully avoided gameday traffic.

* Added all new books - and there are quite a few from the recent carnage at Borders - to the shelves in the stubrary. Alphabetized and everything.

* In the process, identified at least four books that can be donated to next year's library sale. Including my copy of Sophie's Choice. The. worst. book. ever. (Okay, so maybe Heart of Darkness is the worst, but I've already gotten rid of that one.)

* Assembled my brand new vacuum cleaner, my very first non-hand-me-down model. And, yes, it's only been riding around in the back of the Rav for a week. Details, details.

* Used said vacuum cleaner to clear away the growing colony of dust bunnies in the corners of my room

* Also used vacuum with hose not properly attached, whirling aforementioned dust bunnies into the air.

* Cleaned both bathrooms, which I'm sorry to say, gave me great concern over the amount of hair I seem to shed.

* Emptied the dishwasher. Loaded the dishwasher. Emptied the dishwasher. I sense a theme here...

* Did four loads of laundry which equals no less than eight trips up and down the basement stairs

* Listened to newly procured Adele's 21 album. So late to the party on that one, but it's a masterpiece.

* Changed the sheets on both beds, meaning tonight's sleep will be Snuggle-rific.

* And speaking of sleep...

My Big Fat Box of Skinny Gains Weight

As I continue my slow and steady course toward moving into the house that I bought, I've noticed the accumulation of two things in the years since my last big move: clothes and pounds. Upon my arrival home, my wardrobe unfurled into three closets. And my waistline, likewise, has expanded [insert secret number of sizes I am unwilling to disclose on the internets]. It would seem that being reunited with homecooked meals and my boon shopping companion led to weight gain in a number of ways.

Instead of packing up the now ridiculous-sized wardrobe and moving it part-and-parcel over to the new abode, I'm forcing myself to sort through it piece by piece in a harrowing fashion show of the outgrown and simply "out." Those items that fall into the former category and intersect with the "I hope I'll wear it again someday" category get tossed into the box that I started awhile back when I noticed this rotund new trend. I call it "My Big Fat Box of Skinny." Inside are the single-digit-sized cherry red wool pants passed on to me by my sister-in-law. And the gray trousers I purchased on the cusp of fitting, only to tip right over the edge shortly thereafter into the "ain't gonna squeeze in no way no how" and requiring me to fold them neatly and place them in the box never having worn them in public. And the list goes on.

There were also in this hit-parade of fashion memorabilia the gross misfits, those garments I attempted to wear that rendered me flushed, panting and somehow twisted up in armholes and zippers with fabric cutting into all my soft places. The skirts that felt like sausage casings. The dresses I was able to get into but appeared to be related to the Michelin man with all my doughy rolls clearly visible.

And so it went - an extravaganza of ill-fitting. A feast of faux-pas. At the end of it, when the last skirt had been paraded out for review, I tossed the too-small items into the Big Fat Box of Skinny. And I noted, with a grimace, that the only thing that had lost weight was my closet.