14 July 2017

little black cardigan

i am a cardigan fan. so versatile, so chic, so 80s meg ryan. my recent fave is a little black buttonless number. i mean, it's what they call "open front" - buttonless on purpose. i like that sweater so much, i have trouble not wearing it every day. black goes with everything, right? cardigans go with everything, right?

a few weeks ago, i lost it. OH MY GOD I LOST MY FAVOURITE SWEATER. i was distraught. DIS. TRAUGHT.

i searched the house, up and down. searched car, office, house again. asked the lame-oh, usually busy sleeping "security" guard at the front desk at work. asked my coworkers. nothing.

sadness reigned.

then, as i was going over my movements for the millionth time, i realized i'd gotten a facial. AH-HA! i texted my facial girl (love saying that but she's like this really nice lady who is like 10 years my junior). so, i texted my facial girl and asked her did i leave a sweater there. she was like, yes, she found a sweater but didn't know whose it was.


i called the facial place and asked how late they'd be there. til 6. perfect. i swung by on my way home from work, picked up the sweater, and order was restored to the universe. that evening, i took the sweater as an extra layer when we went to grab a bite. i tossed it in the back seat of the truck and turned out that i didn't need it and then i forgot it in the truck. a few days later i was looking for my old friend again - turning the house upside down, sorting through the detritus in the truck's back seat, looking around the office. it was no where.

i liked it so much and was so shook at the first loss that i had ordered another. a backup. however, i was loathe to un-tag the backup because clearly the world is a dangerous place for little black sweaters, but what choice did i have. it was desperate times. i un-tagged the backup and put it into use.

at this point, i'm considering whether i need to get a replacement backup to backup the backup that's been pressed into service. (not pressed as in ironed. don't be ridiculous. "pressed into service." it's an expression.) it's not an easy decision. they're like $15 per and while that's admittedly not a king's ransom, i wouldn't throw $15 out the window, either.

so i'm noodling this decision and days go by. fortnights go by. six weeks go by and this afternoon i am headed to get a facial. i walk in the facial place all hi, hello, good to see you. my facial girl goes, hey - i have your sweater here, still hanging on my door.


oh. my. whatnot.

did all that stuff -- all that calling the facial place, swinging by to pick it up, leaving it in the truck later then losing it for a second time -- did all that... did all that not even happen?

i feel like i am in an epi of the twilight zone.

i feel like i am in the for-real twilight zone.

i have these literal MEMORIES of stuff that DIDN'T EVEN HAPPEN.

totes to the spooky.


i do now have two little black cardigans.

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