So I've got these two Tommy Hilfiger long-sleeve T-shirts, hand-me-downs from my mom, and they're really comfortable and I like the colors and they don't actually say the designer's name anywhere except the inside label, which deluded me into accepting them in the first place. But I just can't seem to leave the house in this garb. Even if I just need to go to the post office, I invariably wind up changing my shirt first.
I suppose I should take them to Goodwill, so a bonafide member of Hilfiger's army can claim them. Yet they're so comfy, I can't quite give them up. For now, I've marked their demotion by moving them from one cube in my duct-taped, cardboard-box closet organizer to another. But if I get extra motivated, maybe I'll sew something funky over those Hilfiger stripes -- like the time I "recovered" a Vera Bradley purse I once got as a Christmas gift.
1 comment:
Some infiltrator I would be ... all this time I thought Tommy Hilfiger was Tommy Hilfinger, and spelled it that way in the original version of this post.
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