You know, I had a really funny column in mind for today.
Yep, I had it all planned out. I was going to discuss how it has occurred to me, over the past few years, that clothing sizes have dramatically changed over the course of my lifetime. And not necessarily in a good way.
Ah, it would've been a hoot!
I intended to say: I'm not so much referring to my own physical occupation of matter - you know, my length and width and girth, if you will - and how it has literally ballooned since the days of my childhood. I believe this fact is patently obvious and stands to reason. OK, fine - so I've expanded with age. Who hasn't?
Sheesh, I'd say.
I was going to reference the fact that what used to be the standard in ladies' garment were odd numbers from 3 on up or their even counterparts that started at 4. Heck, or even those dual sizes beginning at the infamously amalgamated 3/4 marker were popular for a bit, remember?
The latter were always my preference, BTW; made me feel like I was between sizes.
Anyway, I'd have gone on and on about how they have inexplicably shrunk - and grown, I suppose over the course of the last few decades and I'd focus more on the teeny, tiny, itty-bitty, microscopic reduction in ladies' clothing sizes because, well, those are the ones I find so offensive - and frankly, a little weird.
For instance, what, I'd ask, is size 00?
Um, when did "less than 1" become a size option and what exactly is that dimension, anyway? How can someone possibly be a XXX-Small.
Hmm. Are we dressing ladybugs these days? I mean, are clothing makers just trying to hurt the collective psyche of American women or what? Who could possibly shove even their little pinky toe into a dress in the size of 00?
My 46-year-old lumpy frame is not amused by this national de-fabrication. In fact, I'm so miffed over it all, I'd have stated that I'm looking into how to get my hands on one of those cool "Special K" scales that reads "You are beautiful!" or "Atta girl, Patty!" upon being weighed.
Ah, a girl can dream, can't she? That's what I'd intended to ponder.
Anyway, all that went out the window when I had two significant scares this week. In fact, my two favorite teen boys on the planet, my son Kyle and my nephew Scott, both gave me (and the rest of my family) some breathless moments courtesy of one fainting spell followed by a car accident.
I am overwhelmingly relieved to tell you that both gentlemen are fine much to the eternal gratitude of yours truly and all of my peeps.
But it certainly has been a sobering reminder that life, ladies and gentlemen, is a very fragile gift.
And it also reaffirmed my staunch belief that angels walk among us. There's no question in my mind that guardian angels were watching over my Kyle and my Scott at some pretty crucial moments in the past week or so. And all I can do is offer them up a sincere note of thanks.
Let's all agree to give our kids an extra big dose of hugs this week, OK? They are, after all, the most wonderful gift ever
Even better than being able to squish yourself successfully into a size 00.
Kimerer is a Tribune columnist and grateful mom and aunt who tips her hat to angelic interventions everywhere. Contact her at firstname.lastname@example.org