Subconsciously I knew this day was coming. But did I know that it would come so soon?
Yesterday I habitually went to my spring refresher clothes to retrieve my pink skirt. Long time readers of my blog know full well my dependence on my pink skirt. Actually, dependence might be too cool a word for what I feel for my pink skirt. Salvation, is the word.
Salvation is my pink skirt.
It fit me in thin times as well as wide. We went to Europe together on several occasions. It soothed me during a heaving pregnancy. It always forgave me, even when she sat in the laundry pile for days at a time. Looked good with anything, including my woeful brown hair. And in times of hibernation, I slowly waited for those sunny days where I could awake my favorite piece from wardrobe slumber.
Shoot, I'm gonna cry.
Because yesterday I realized, through no fault of my own, my pink skirt is dying. And there is no cure for this disease.
Undoubtedly birthed in the belly of a sweatshop in Mongolia, my pink skirt came to me through the adoption center called Target. On adoption day I knew full that my pink skirt would have a shelf life, but how was I to know how much adoration would grow in my heart over the next years of our togetherness? How was I to know, I ask!
There are greasy stains and crusty spots that even tenacious chemicals can not make disappear. The ruffles have lost their perk courtesy of the aging cotton cloth. Balls are forming due to excess drying in the tumble machine. But most of all, as I sat in the sun with Lucy yesterday I noticed that my pink skirt is now completely see-through. Which would please some, and embarrass others. And while I don't care what other people think about me, I am thinking of running for governor and currently trying to avoid scandal. (So hard, avoiding scandal. Have you tried it?)
I've thought of saving my pink skirt in the vault where my prom and wedding dresses have been laid to rest. I could also schalack my pink skirt with a touch of gold to hang upon my wall. Or put it on e-bay to raise money for my favorite charity: c jane's pennies (we clean rusted, grimy, stinky pennies, spray them with specialized coin perfume and put them back into circulation--every scent counts! (our tag line)). Be assured please, there is not pomp and circumstance too fancy for this occasion.
Anyway, RIP pinky. You know I love you. I am not trying to skirt the issue, you have been a girl's best friend. And I will see you in heaven. Until then . . .
. . .pray for me.
The Frog: Want to help me in my suffering? Go here to my forum where I have a burning question in need of your response.