This morning as I dressed, several issues and a sleep deficiency weighing heavily on my mind, I discovered a hole in my undershirt. I had a flashback. And I lost it. I grabbed the scissors I keep on my dressing table to deal with labels and hacked it into 8 pr 9 hanky sized shop rags. (Extra long shirt, my favorite)
What were the issues? Not discussing them right now. Too soon, as my nephew would say. But the flashback I will share.
It is a lesson in not saying that it is "good enough".
Last winter we were on the way to an appointment with the melanoma dermatologist for my husband, about a two hour drive. Mr. Bright and Early had us up and going so that when the office phoned my cell to let us know the doctor's wife had given birth to a son just a couple hours previous and the good doctor wasn't coming in that morning we were almost in the city. Might as well go shopping.
So we had breakfast at the mall and people watched for a while until the stores opened. Then my DH informed me that I needed a few clothes. Nothing black.
"But Honey," I whined, "black matches all my scarves."
But Honey said he refused to buy anything black so what can a girl do?
Now, when I dressed that morning I realized that my white sock had a cement stain on it but my pants were long and I had no intention of taking off my walking shoes. Good enough. Also, the sleeveless top I put on had a stain on the front, slightly off center. Good as an undershirt. Good enough with another sweater pulled over it. My thinking is not that clear at 4:45 a.m.
So DH takes me to his favorite dress shop. Most of the clothes are vastly overpriced (I like V Village, myself) but fashionably elegant.The owner of the shop, a tiny, hyper woman with an adorable accent, has a knack for pulling wonderful things off the hangers that I do like.
So here I am in the dressing room with a stack of stunning outfits and I realize I have a stain on my sock. I am not about to walk barefoot in a public place. Oh dear. Oh well.
Then Natasha, that lovely person, comes with more things to try on, some which require a tank top. So then I have to model these beautiful clothes, cringing because of the sock and holding the jacket slightly off center to cover the spot on the shirt. Awkward.
I went home with several garments, a bruised ego and murdered the socks and the shirt.
It's too bad I have to go out this morning. I could do a massive deep clean de clutter on all the ugly in my house in this mood.