DIANE MAKAR MURPHY When I try to do it all, something is always left undone

The scene: Pants tossed carelessly on the bed. A shirt draped across the arm of an overstuffed chair. Three pairs of shoes helter skelter on the floor. Earrings on the dresser top, laundry basket with clothes overspilling, curlers cascading from an over-stretched curler cap. Papers on the bed. Bills on the dresser.
"Elementary, dear Watson, a burglary."
No.
"Multitasking again?"
Bingo.
I am guilty of trying to do as much as I possibly can in every free moment I own -- this includes the half hour before I should leave for work. I will grade papers and redesign my Web site, load the dishwasher and brush the dog, clean the toilets and pay the bills, given half a chance.
If I look at the clock and see I have 10 minutes, I'll start the taxes and phone the insurance company. No reason to waste a moment.
Clothes crisis
This works out very well, until I have a clothes crisis, which is what happened in the above ersatz crime scene investigation.
Attempt No. 1 was the red stretch knit shirt which had, evidently, shrunk. I dragged it on, squeezing my head and crushing my glasses against my nose. "Not a problem, not a problem." (Thwonk, popping sound like a cork flying out of champagne.)
I stared at myself in the full-length mirror and considered it as the blood left my torso. The sleeves were still long enough. If I just yanked it at the bosom, and pulled it at the waist, and stretched it at the shoulders, and agreed not to breath all day ...
One of my husband's jokes popped into my head:
A guy tries on a suit and asks, "Aren't the pants too long?"
"Not if you just hold them up like this," the salesman replies.
"Isn't the suit coat a little too big?" the man asks.
"Not if you tug a little at the back seam," the salesman says.
"Isn't the hem a little uneven?"
"Not if you lean to the left."
The man buys the suit and leaves the store, tipping to the left, holding his pants in front and his coat in back.
Two women walk by. "Did you see that poor deformed man?"
"Yes, but wasn't that a beautiful suit?"
I took off the shrunken red shirt and threw it on the bed.
I grabbed another. "What was I thinking the day I bought this?" I thought. And another -- "How could my body have changed so much since I last wore this?" And another -- "Isn't there one shirt that coordinates with one pair of pants in this closet?"
A minute earlier, I had been almost dressed -- beige pants and a too-small red shirt. Suddenly, I was in my underwear again.
By the time I was dressed -- black pants, black striped shirt, black belt, black shoes -- I had redecorated my bedroom in disposal dump chic and had 69 seconds left. Time enough to ...
No, No, No! Enough is enough, Diane!
Ready to go
I ran down to the closet and grabbed my black wool coat. The day before, my husband John was picking at it like a mother orangutan at the zoo, removing dog and human hair. After I brushed it to flawless perfection (yeah, right), I knocked it off the hanger onto the floor just to the left of the dog's bed.
A tornado of black and white fluff burst from beneath it. I stared at it a moment considering what to do (much as one does when a very delectable chocolate falls to the floor). I picked it up.
"Good enough."
I glanced in the mirror one last time and on the double take I noticed something rather important. I had done the bills, called the insurance company, graded some papers, replied to some e-mails, and, finally, dressed. What I hadn't done was ... pull up my zipper.
Maybe that's something I should add to my multitask checklist.
murphy@vindy.com