We're on vacation. For the Sons, that means "only wear the bear minimum of clothing Mom requires". For Hubby, that generally means "no office clothes". For me, thinking of all the time I won't be spending scrubbing toilets and scooping dog poop, vacation is a chance to wear the cute clothes.
Today, I pulled out my favorite, crisp, white shirt. It is great, any time, but just fantastic, with a little bit of a tan. So I woke up, put it on, and instantly felt beachy-glamorous.
Floating on vacation waves, I went downstairs to make the Sons and their cousin Belgian waffles. And that was my big mistake. The Belgian waffle maker was less than clean, and it left several greasy smears on my shirt.
I pretreated it, I washed it, the smears were still there. So I pretreated it again, and washed it again, with the next load of laundry. I just pulled that out, and my fabulous white shirt is now covered in blue dye, from, I think, a beach towel.
I just put it in the wash for the third time today, with all the bleach I think it can stand, all by itself. My hopes are not high.
I should just wear crap clothes, like I do at home. Who's looking at me, down here, anyway?