I could be pregnant in this shirt. OR, I could sit on a bale of hay and pose with a pumpkin on my lap (and a baby in my uterus?) in this shirt. I could stretch out on a taupe blanket in the grass and drink wine (sans baby, OBVIOUSLY) and eat apple slices and cheese on a crisp fall day in this shirt with maybe a copy of The Night Circus at my side and the leaves are orange and yellow and red and maybe Andrew Bird shows up with a guitar and a slide whistle and he asks me to sing Left Handed Kisses with him, and of course I will. Of course I will.
What bothers me just slightly is that I could sell paper towels for truly tough messes in this shirt.
I’m on the fence (as they say) with this shirt, but the fact that it matches our back porch and has pockets is making me lean toward the pile of Keep It. My phone fits in one of those pockets. My keys fit in the other.
Do you remember this poncho? It’s coming along very nicely, and B is for Buckethead.