The Curse of the Bacon

We had a date.  We were going to a jazz concert at the local university.  "He would be home about dinnertime, and then his folks would come by and pick us up.  A good old double-date, in the back seat of momma's car.

Earlier in the day, I had been at MegaMall, cruising through the aisles with the twins.  Somewhere between new socks and and cat food, we came across the sale rack.  I'm a sucker.  I stopped for a brief moment (because I never have more than a brief moment when the twins are around) to peruse.  For something for me.  There usually isn't anything there that anyone would want.  If it was wanted, someone would have already purchased it, taken it home, and loved it, right?  But I found it.  A new shirt.  My mother would have called it a blouse.  It was woven, but as soft as your favorite old t shirt.  Fitted and flowy in all the right places, and the perfect shade of green.  I don't buy green very often because most of the time it is either a yellowy-neon green, or too olive.  I can't wear either of those trendy colors.  But this time it was exactly the same hue as my eyes, and I was delighted.  And on sale!

I snatched up the shirt and hurried through the checkout.  The faster we can ring up our purchases, the fewer checkout candy temptations we have, you know.

I put it on as soon as I got home and checked the fit in the mirror.  Yes, I know, you are supposed to check the fit before you buy it.  That's why they have dressing rooms in the stores.  But the twins and me and dressing rooms don't mix.  It would be bad.  But the fit was perfect.  I loved it!  I pulled off the stickers and cut of the tags, and rushed in to make dinner so I wouldn't be late for our date.

While the veggies were defrosting I dashed into the bathroom to put on some makeup.  While the sauce was simmering I did my hair (but not over the sauce.  That would leave long hairs in the sauce.  Ew.).  I slid a dab of bacon grease in the frying pan to saute the onions.

And then it happened.  The bacon grease popped and spit globules of hot grease all over my new shirt.  My new shirt!  More than 20 dark spotches appeared across the front of the perfectly green fabric.  I settled the stove and rushed to the bedroom to take it off.  I looked up the best internet remedies for removing grease from fabric.

I spread the whimpering shirt on the clean counter (maybe it was me whimpering) and coated it with corn starch, to soak up the grease.  I carefully blotted with paper towels and shook off the extra.  I rinsed the shirt and smeared shampoo all over the front.  I wrapped the now-entirely-wet shirt in a plastic bag to soak while we went to the concert.

In the morning, I continued my ministrations.  Presoak, wash in the hottest water possible, line dry.  After the process, I anxiously unfolded the shirt - and the dots are still there.  Mocking me.  Bad words.

I should have bought two shirts at the sale.

And I should wear my apron while cooking.