The winter–such as it is–is taking its toll.

Today my friend Beth told me she became flat-out hysterical yesterday when she tried to put her jeans on, and they no longer fit. Now this is bad for many reasons, not the least of which the winter hasn’t really kicked in yet, and that means that the Days of Wanting to Sit in Front of the Television and Drink Gravy Right Out of the Bowl haven’t even begun, and yet even so, the clothes are starting not to fit. It’s way too early for this!

But Beth is a sensible woman, and she told herself not to panic, that surely the jeans had just spent a little too much time in the dryer, and that she should just tug at them encouragingly and keep hoisting them up, think positive, keep pulling, and that all would be well.

But these jeans would not even come close, no matter how much she struggled. And so at last she came to the only possible conclusion, the conclusion any woman holding her pair of too-tight jeans would quickly get to, which was, (to quote):  “I am a fat fat fatty fat fat fatso who can’t even fit in her comfortable pants because she is so fat, and now I will have to start shopping in the tent section at L.L. Bean.”

She threw them on the floor and threw herself on her bed and started to sob.

And that’s when she noticed that the pants were actually her skinny little son’s.