I suppose I could have solved my problem of finding a shirt if I honed my renewed romance with crocheting into a line of apparel. The only way that will probably ever happen is if I stitch several dishcloths together and call them a shirt. I can only imagine the thrill on a thirteen year old girl's face when her mother brings out a rocking white cotton top seemingly crafted on a potholder loom.
Let's talk for a moment about how my quest for that shirt panned out. The tried and true sports bra section of the red bullseye store looked as though the Grinch heard I was on a mission and snuck in to steal the entire display. The fixture was there, but with not even a crumb fit for a mouse. Panic. I started whipping winter white garments around, hoping if the girl layered them all together we would be in business.
As I revealed my offerings to my daughter, I noticed a smile cross her face. My efforts had been validated! Wait, no, sorry, she just noticed a step before me that the fancy tank top undergarment I had purchased had a nice "nursing" tag on it. I knew it was the wrong item, but still pondered its potential effectiveness. The two white shirts that were apparently too see-thru, as white shirts tend to be, are now ours to keep because I was not charged for them.
So you see, as much as I would like to blog about some of the silly random things I have experienced and seen, I have to go somewhere, anywhere...I have no idea where...to get my daughter a shirt...a white shirt. You know, like those white shirts I have, but cannot wear because I have no appropriate bras. Yet somehow I was surprised to find myself in this predicament.
You know, it's kind of nice to be back here just relaxing and chatting
Stop by Stacy's to wish the hostess with the mostess a Happy Birthday Week!