White Shirt

So . . . Brent and I had a great weekend.  The “Big Kids” gave us babysitting last Christmas (and could again this Christmas. Hint, hint.) and so Brent and I went to the Big City and went out to eat at places that don’t serve chicken nuggets and went to a play and went shopping.

Fabulous weekend.

We came home and I started on the mountain of laundry that had accumulated since we’d been gone.  You know how sometimes you end up with an extra load of things that you didn’t see or didn’t sort right or that found their way to the laundry room after you got started?  Well, I had one of those.  In it were three brand new white shirts.  Two were just t-shirts I bought on clearance but one was a blouse for which I paid full price.

That’s right.  Full price.  I never pay full price, but for whatever reason this blouse struck me and I paid full price.

And not just full price, but more full price than I found reasonable.  Full price, “this shirt is not worth that” full price.

I put these three shirts and a few other things in the washing machine, and I turned around and grabbed a hot pink headband I used for exercising that morning, and I said to myself, “I will just throw this small hot pink item in the wash with these other items.”

You see where this story is going to take an unfortunate turn, don’t you?

My poor shirt.  It’s bad.  The headband must have curled its pinkness into this one shirt.  It’s not just pink, it’s blotched.  I tried soaking.  I tried bleach.  I tried baking soda.  Oxyclean.  Prayer.

There’s a lesson here, but I am not sure what it is yet.  Don’t pay full price?  Don’t wear pink headbands?

Brent says now he can never run for public office because the attack ads will point out my less that white shirts.



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