It absolutely never fails; I try to be on the good side of things: to be prepared, ready, even ahead of the game. And it all goes south in a wild flush of misery and boo-ness. (No, that's not a word. Spell check confirmed it. But I don't care. I'm making a it a word.)
Spring has finally decided to unleash warm temps on our fair city, thus necessitating a trip up to the attic and the Summer Clothes Bins. Every year, they're up there waiting for me to go through them. Will it fit? Too short? Too tight? Going through those seasonal bins is always a bit of a crap shoot for us. I pack away as much as I possibly can at the end of each season, hoping, hoping, and hoping that maybe some of it will fit in 365 days. When the calendar & weather align, I pull out piece after piece of clothing, making 2 piles on the floor beside me. Pile One: Hooray It Fits. Pile Two: No-Go. Darn it.
Guess which pile is always bigger?
Indeed. Pile 2 is our seasonal winner.
Out of frustration and with a sincere desire to pack away some clothes that we could actually wear again, I went out at the end of last summer and shopped ahead. I scored big time on Capri pants and shorts, and a few tee shirts. I scrutinized over the sizes, being sure to choose the next size up from what they were currently wearing. When I brought it all home and tried things on them, I felt good about the prospects of a full wardrobe for the next summer. For this summer.
Everything is too tight.
They basically skipped an entire size. I simply cannot win.
And so I'll not be trying to buy ahead now. Nope. No more. Not until they stop growing like weeds. Not until one size will fit them for more than a few weeks. Then we'll see. I'll try being more prepared then.
And even then, I'll be wary. Because I know how these things usually work out.