Thursday March 27th, 2014

The exercise:

Write about something that is: sloppy.

Was back working at the gym this evening. I'm grateful it was a quiet night, as I would have been much happier resting at home. At least it's done now and I can focus on getting stuff done on the farm and around the house until I work again on Monday.

I should get this written before I fall asleep.

Again.

Mine:

His shirt was white, once. In a previous life. I imagine it sitting happily on a display table in some trendy shop, all of its multi-coloured friends nearby.

I see those friends disappearing, by ones and twos. How sad that must have been. Then one day it was its turn and I picture its joy and eagerness to see its new home, to make new friends.

If only it had any idea what was in store for it.

Those glorious, crisp, clean days are long gone now. That pure, youthful visage a distant memory. Now it is decorated with spaghetti stains, blueberry handprints, and other, less identifiable markings.

It must be so embarrassed when it is worn outside. How awful it must feel when it encounters its old shelf mates on the street, still in pristine condition. Does it question its fate? Wonder what it did to deserve such a sloppy owner?

His birthday is coming 'round again and I want to buy him a new white shirt to replace this one. But that seems cruel, somehow. Both to the poor, abused shirt he owns now, and to the new one I would be condemning to the same fate.