When daughter Lise was here at Thanksgiving, we bought look-alike tops. They were made of extremely soft polyester, rather fuzzy and quite warm. Since it wasn’t particularly cold at the time, I don’t think she wore hers here. I wore mine a week or so ago and noticed that it had a tendency to creep upwards. I pulled at it all day long. Thinking it would have been cured in the washing machine, I put it on again this morning before walking. Whoa! Big mistake! After chatting with neighbor Marla at the quarter point of my walk, I realized the top had decided to slither up. There were two other layers on top – a sweater and a windbreaker. How bad could it get? I trotted off downhill to the stream. I should realize by now that when I ask myself a question, I should wait for a considered opinion.

The top was bunching up as I passed the cafe. I was acutely aware that neighbors Shawn and Bob might be inside having breakfast. They spoke to me as they passed in their vehicles, and they turned into the cafe parking lot. I hoped they were in the hardware area instead of the cafe if my top was going to embarrass me. Shame would be bad enough before strangers, but please! not dear neighbors! I would have given anything to pull that top down, because I was beginning to feel like the Michelin Man, with lumpy spare tires gathering momentum around my middle.

Years ago one could feel safe pulling at clothes when no one was looking. Now? There could be hidden security cameras recording your every move. I crossed the highway and passed the fire station. Two men and a woman were examining a pickup truck in the parking lot, possibly considering a purchase. Surely the hefty truck would hold their interest while I walked by.

As I huffed and puffed up the steep hill, I longed to take off the windbreaker. Air! Air! In front of Marla’s house, off came the windbreaker. The top had bunched up and was trying to wave at all the cars from the neck of the sweatshirt. I reasoned that as long as I kept my arms down, the slithery top could not possibly creep over my head. When not picking my way through two icy patches, I let my hands check the hem of the sweatshirt from time to time. Thank heavens it seemed firmly anchored to the jeans, well below the danger line. Our front door never looked so inviting! I rushed through it and sagged with relief that I had made it home without exposing more than hand and facial skin.

Would you agree that worry alone should have burned more calories than usual?