Okay, first things first, I am totally convinced I am not the only woman, nay person, to do shit like this.
I have been supplementing my physio therapy motivation with retail therapy recently. Not too badly, the bank is not broken, and i am one super super fluffy sweater to the good among other things, and a really cool orange-pink tshirt. Not really orange pink, but orange that isn’t pumpkin, not really tangerine, definitely not dayglo… its hard to describe, but i like it.
This shirt is great. It’s designed to fit really nicely, doesn’t ride up, doesn’t slide around. Quick dry synthetic fabric, with a nice boat neck and sleeveless. I hate sleeves for some reason. Anyway, I have been happily wearing this functional, awesome fitting, awesome color shirt while “hiking” aka walking in the woods, for a few weeks now. It also happens to be made by a brag worthy brand, which really only comes after the fit, color, and fact that it was on sale.
Anyway, so German Boy and I are heading out for our respective activities (running and medium paced walking), and I comment on it. He compliments it, this shirt is really awesome. I get home from my walk, am starving off course, so start preparing my uber healthy grilled chicken breast and salad dinner. I’m washing my lettuce, feeling awesome, bouncing around, drop the chicken in the pan and splash.
Olive oil, all over the magic wonderful awesome shirt.
I took it off right away and soaked it in the bathroom, thinking maybe maybe i could get it out quick enough. I did an illicit load of laundry on a forbidden day, with the wool setting to make sure it reealllyyy was cold enough, and hung to dry, heart in my heels and fingers crossed. Of course it was totally ruined. Well, I can forsee circumstances where I would wear it: dirty outdoor rock climbing, hiking where i know i won’t be taking off my over layers, sleeping in a hut… you get my drift, t-shirt ruined.
What does a logical girl do? Go to the store at 8 am the next day.
Of course it opens at 9, so I do some errands ending up with bulbs to plant, a little gardening shovel, some new sandals, and things to adjust the length of the new curtains. Store opens, bam, not the first one inside -> that’s a win. Go down into the outlet, and magic lights start flashing, the shirt was not only there, but on the “last chance” rack and had been marked down even more. And it was the same color. And it was the same size. I grabbed it, didn’t even stop to think twice how retarded it was that I was buying another identical tshirt, secretly, at 9 am, on a work day. Brought it home, trashed the tags, don’t regret it at all.
Of course, the whole “on sale” concept becomes a little less significant when you buy TWO not one, and German Boy may in fact at some point notice I have two identical shirts, and I will have some ‘splainin to do, but until that day arrives… man I am going to rock that baby walking 5 km/hr!
Slightly blurry, slightly weirdly colored, but the bf is home so secretly taking a better picture is out of the question..