Rather a long time ago, I paid perhaps too much for a belt, deeming it a smidgen sturdier than the others available at the time — which, given my girth, was not exactly the most extensive selection, but it had the standard five holes, and it fit me at the third, so I wasn’t going to complain.
For some reason, I lost 37 lb in 2004, and moved to the fourth, sometimes even the fifth hole. Things stabilized after that, and if nothing else, the belt proved itself satisfactorily sturdy.
Then after about six years of nothing else happening, I pulled up my pants — cheap imitation Dockers, as is my wont — took two steps, and watched them fall right back down again. The scale hadn’t told me anything remarkable, but I went ahead and punched a sixth hole.
I am, it appears, down about 25 lb from last summer. I don’t feel it. But that sixth hole was supplanted by a seventh, then an eighth.
In the interest of making finer adjustments, I set those later holes not quite a full inch apart. Still, I’m within a day or two of punching #11. I have no explanation for that, or for the fact that I’m evidently too damned cheap to buy a new belt. And perhaps I’m better off not knowing, or at least not giving an axiomatic sauced gander.