The Death of a Shirt

Warning: This is a very upsetting post. It describes events that happened 2 weeks ago. I'm just now coming to grips with it.

<yogabreathing>

All Summer I stalked a shirt on shopbop, waiting for it to go on sale.

Joie.
Cream.
Silk.
Perfectly tailored.

Like this one, but not exactly:

When I wore mine, I did not make the face she's making.

Anyway, I wore the shirt exactly twice.

Then I brought it to the dry cleaners. At least I think I did. But it disappeared. Maybe they lost it. Maybe I dropped it on my way to the dry cleaners. Maybe the TSA lady who inspected my bag loved it as much as I did and decided to steal it.

Either way, it's gone. No one to blame. No one to get mad at. Just $117 + tax down the drain.

At least I have this picture to remind me of what could have been:

I guess if you're gonna go out, spending your final day in Napa isn't so bad.

RIP Joie.