Thus far our fearless heroine (look-it’s my story and everyone should be the lead in their own story) has foregone Starbucks (sigh), started to be a regular goer to the library (the books still smell) and horror of horrors has pledged to not buy any more clothes until she has worn, upcycled or donated everything in her wardrobe.
The upcycling is the part that worries me the most. You see I hate (I don’t usually use the “h” word) sewing and I’m really bad at it (thus the “h” word because I’m a little competitive).
This feeling is usually reserved for; people who are mean to animals and when you’ve left the last piece of pie in the fridge as a special treat to yourself and wake-up the next morning to find that someone has eaten it while you’ve slept. (Mendoza!!! Insert mental picture of hands raised in protest, dropping to knees…)
I am going to try.
This is my first
It’s a pink trench that needs an extra dart or two or three put in it so that I don’t feel like I’m wearing a mumu every time I have it on.
I already feel sorry for it.
The Mrs said:
If *I* can sew (I can't), then *you* can so (you can).A masterful use of words, if I ever saw one.