It was a dark and snowy morning @6am . . . a few instant, sure characteristics of a bad day for me. . . I stumbled out of bed and into my laundry room to grab my running clothes out of the dryer. With my eyes still trying to peel themselves open, I noticed out of the corner of my eye that my bottle of bleach had tipped over on top of my dryer. Not thinking twice about this, because the cap was screwed on of course, I grabbed the bottle to return it to it's upright position. As I grabbed the handle, my palm met the label on the bottle which was completely drenched.
At this point everything on my body that was formerly only semi-conscious, woke up quickly. I began to asses the un-reversable damage of bleach, and started to pat the various stacks of the clean, folded laundry on top of my dryer. Everything felt fine, and then my eyes met the last stack before my hands did . . . I froze as I registered that my one and only favorite pair of designer Jeans were RUINED.
Now this post might seem somewhat petty and materialistic, but these jeans were my first big purchase after I graduated from college and had a real job. They were my envy that I could not afford as a poor student, (I actually still shouldn't be affording them as a newlwed either, not to mention an upcoming dental student's wife.)
If it was anything else, I would have seen it as an opportunity to by a new one. But . . I, like most women, don't necessarily have the easiest time when it comes to shopping for jeans. It is a serious process for me that takes a lot of time, money, and alterations. Let the process begin . . .