I wore the black-and-white dress to work today, complete with pink grosgrain ribbon belt, pink 3/4 sleeve sweater-thing, and black kitten heels. And, seriously, every single person I’ve spoken to has complimented the dress, from friends to coworkers to complete strangers, including two male coworkers who’ve never said one word about clothing in my presence ever.
So of course I got all cocky, spending at least an hour (not all at once, but a combined total of an hour) fluffing the skirt at my desk, or fiddling with the ribbon bow, or checking out my boobs in the dress, thinking about how awesome this dress is, and how although most clothes that are popular right now are totally not compatible with my body type, these structured cotton-blend 50s style sundresses seem to be designed specifically for my curves, and how if I were to die an early death, I’d like someone to say, “Well hey, at least she had some kickass dresses.”
I was thinking something along those lines while washing my hands in the bathroom a while ago, and then I looked down to rinse and saw the Spaghettio stain on my boob.
I immediately began to dab at it with my soapy hands, which did nothing but fade the Spaghettio intensity until the spot began to look less like tomato sauce and more like poop.
The poopish spot is tiny and probably barely noticeable to the casual observer, especially since the dress is a print. And the pink 3/4 sleeve sweater-thing, when pulled just so, covers it nicely. But my knowledge of the poopish spot is seriously fucking with my awesome dress mojo right about now, and I’m hoping that a little dab of Oxy-Clean will take it out when I get home.