According to Blogging University, the next post I write should be the post that made me want to start a blog in the first place. I’ll be honest with you, reader, it all started with a shirt. You see, last weekend we had a yard sale. There are many positive factors in having a yard sale. You make money, you get rid of junk, but the best part, for me, is it’s a family affair. Every year either Mom or one of her sisters hosts a yard sale and we all get a part of yard to lay out our stuff. By “we all” I mean my cousins, aunts, sisters, and me. I grew up in one of those stereotypical Kentucky families you may have seen on a bad TV movie. We were all raised Roman Catholic, Mimi had five children, and three of them had three. My generation seems to like a minimum of three so far, too. We just love big families, and a yard sale is just an excuse for us to sit around and gossip and pick through each other’s junk.
That is how the shirt came into my possession. Mom was studiously hanging the nicer clothes line while I was laying out some old dinnerware with orange mushrooms painted in the cups. I could hear Mom’s loud, audible in-take of breath. Like she had seen a giant spider, or twisted her arm the wrong way, or found an a hundred dollar bill in the pocket. She makes that noise a lot. So, obviously, I freak out, “What! What?!” And she holds up the shirt, with a smug, all-knowing smile.
“Go try this on.” Was all she said, and knowing my mother well enough, I didn’t see any reason to argue.
I mean, it was obvious I was going to hate this shirt. From the hanger it glared at me with disgust. The fabric in the front was short enough to show inches of midriff, with black fringe comprising the rest of the length, with the back fabric being normal length. I never, EVER show my belly, not even in the summer, not even in a swimsuit. The neck was huge, scooping, and flowy, with wide short sleeves. It would show my bra straps and annoy me. And the pattern! It was about to be summer and this was drab, dark, and too maroon for my taste. But I tried it on, for Mom. I had dark jean shorts on.
This shirt, if you haven’t figured out yet, is magical. I fell in love as soon as I looked in the mirror, and swore to buy more items with fringe in general. The fringe flatters my middle area more than I ever thought possible, and the sleeves and neckline shows off my wicked tattoos. The red tones of the pattern, it turns out, compliment my complexion and the pattern, once I looked at it closer, is very bohemian meets gothic, which I love. I ran back outside to show my mom the shirt she so spot-on picked out. And she turned her nose up. “That shirt shows way too much midriff.”
It just goes to show you, you can never judge a shirt on the rack.