Vest: c/o Karen Kane, Shirt: JC Penny, Skirt: F21, Tights: Target, Boots: Madden Girl, Watch: c/o Mimi's
Have you ever experienced the phenomenon that is washing something only to have it get eaten up by some cotton-and-wool-loving monster who must certainly be hiding behind your washing machine? Or sometimes, and perhaps this is worse, you loose it just long enough for the current season to pass and then once the weather and your wardrobe have moved on to bigger and better things, there it is. The lost sweater that would doubtlessly have been put to good use had it been residing in your closet as opposed to some lint-ridden crevice in your laundry room. I think it has something to do with the urgency with which I conduct my laundry-washing duties. I would like to think of myself as an organized little Suzie homemaker who is always on top of her laundry and neatly folds it into perfect piles after it has air dried on the line and smells of sunshine and rainbows. Unfortunately, the only thing I know about being on top of laundry is sleeping on top of the laundry mountain that has taken up permanent residence on my bed. And I generally avoid said mountain until pigs fly or I run out of unders. The latter typically happens first. So there I go, streaking through the house (because it makes far more since to launder absolutely every piece of dirty laundry you own as opposed to leaving some for the next load) and heaving an armful of clothes into the washer in an act of sheer desperation. So naturally there are a few pieces who feel sorely mistreated by this lack of tender love and care and nestle into that unfortunate crack behind the washer/dryer/freezer and call it home. Maybe I should subscribe to Dusty's logic that you should never go to bed on New Year's Eve with so much as a stitch of dirty laundry, lest you be cursed with falling behind on said chore all the year through. Yep. That's probably my problem. Best of luck sniffing out those sweaters before spring hits.