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The White Shirt That Used to Be Loose

Cotton has limits. Her appetite doesn't.

The White Shirt That Used to Be Loose — Snug. It still closes — mostly. She tugs the hem down and reaches for the plate anyway.

Snug

It still closes — mostly. She tugs the hem down and reaches for the plate anyway.

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This was her comfortable shirt — the baggy one she'd steal for lazy mornings. Feed her through a season and watch the fabric change its mind: first snug, then strained, then openly outmatched by the belly it was never designed for.

Every stage of the sequence

  1. Snug. It still closes — mostly. She tugs the hem down and reaches for the plate anyway.
  2. Strained. The buttons pull into neat little frowns. She blushes. Dinner is served regardless.
  3. Outgrown. Riding up over the curve it lost to, the shirt surrenders. She keeps it out of pure affection.

The shirt held on as long as it could. She, meanwhile, has zero regrets.