"Honey, I Shrunk Your Shirts"

Yesterday, I felt like I was stuck in a Rick Moranis movie as I spied the three Barbie doll size shirts lying on the bed. Any minute, my husband was going to walk in and say, "Don't worry, honey, this is just an experiment. I'm working on a machine that will restore them to their original size." Needless to say, my ole pal "Ricky" had better things to do.

I've sensed a pattern merging, though, with my husband and his notorious shirt shrinking habit. Am I the only woman who feels this way? Telling him to read the labels before he washes and dries them seems to inspire an inner deviousness that only inspires the opposite to happen. The result: more shrunken clothes and bulging veins in my forehead.

I know, I know, yet another rampage from a woman on the ups and downs of married life. This little article, though, my friend, could save you and your wife some grief. We all know that us "ladies" can be the queens of well, "making your life hell" if you don't follow some of our simple rules, so make sure you keep these words of advice close to home.

Don't pull a "Rick" and think before you decide to take on the liberty of drying your loved ones brand new 100% cotton T-shirt on a temperature hot enough to microwave a small meal. Remember, heat settings such as high equate to "two sizes smaller than originally purchased."

Avoiding an over site like this could potentially save your day, week, or future nights out with friends. Sometimes, with a little alcohol, we tend to talk about the things you do that drive us nuts (like your tendency to shrink our clothes).

After the most recent shrinking fiasco, I now have three shirts that will fit my four-year-old niece and three less that I can wear. My husband actually thought he would get away with the destruction this time, but I saw the "mad scientist" running in a swift "maybe she won't discover what I've done" manner.

Then, I found the Barbie doll shirts neatly folded on the bed. Note, I had to wait until they cooled before I could touch them as I didn't want to burn myself from the high temperature radiating from the shriveled up cotton surfaces. Maybe, it was actually the hotness of my temper bouncing off of their surfaces and back into my face.

Whatever the reason, I pumped my fist in the air, a bit Billy Idolish and shouted "why, why, why!" to the clothes gods and to Rick Moranis for inspiring this. If only I were one of those women with gazillions of clothes, I probably wouldn't care as much...well who am I kidding, yes, I would...

Later that night, as my pet vein was restrained and had went back to its non-threatening size, I actually gave my husband the chance to explain his actions that were quite detrimental to my day. Then, I couldn't help but laugh when he said, "Honey, I shrank your shirts. We can buy you new ones."