editor’s note: my guess is that this is zulily? many years ago i was involved in like, an illicit love triangle that is so ridiculous that you wouldn’t even believe it if i told you but i’ll NEVER tell you because it’s a juicy secret i’m taking to my scandalous grave (really, it was really absurd for a mad magazine tomboy who doesn’t do anything but eat noodles and look at animal pictures on the internet), and valentine’s day (my favorite holiday because i like heart print stuff and ren & stimpy valentines and crap) was super super rough because the person i was *in LoVe* with was spending the day with the third corner of the love triangle.
at that point, i’d spent so long in bed depressed and mooning over this romance that i actually hurt my back from like, romantic atrophy of the ass, so i was laying on my couch crying, watching ‘the x-files,’ and taking a crazy amount of painkillers. during this time, i noticed a weird baby wasp or something in my apartment who would land on me or the arm of my couch and watch me sleep, and i somehow convinced myself, in a painkiller haze, that he thought i was his mother. i like, talked to him and named him “rodney” and protected him from my cats and talked about him like he was a real… wasp… child.
anyway, at 12:01 on valentine’s day that year, i accidentally leaned on rodney and he STUNG me and i was so shocked and hurt because at that point i was like, “rodney wouldn’t do that, he’s my son” (i realize that this sounds crazy but i was like, on a lot of painkillers and my family has a serious history of talking to insects, but that is for another time). he was pretty injured from my elbow, but i didn’t want to kill him because we were family. after a few days of protecting his limping/dust covered body from my cats, he stung me again and i got peer-pressured into flushing him. normally i don’t kill bugs, but the force of my elbow had him in a bad way.
anyway, i was basically in this state of delusion and wasp-adopting and romantic despair and pain, and my friends decided that taking me to the cherry hill mall might cheer me up, since there’s a few plus size stores there. i couldn’t find ANYTHING i liked since i’m not really a “retail therapy” type, but while i waited for my straight-size friend to find something at h&m, i impulse bought a heart-print hanky. it was so beautiful and romantic and perfect for catching all of my snot and tears !
which, by the way, is exactly what i used it for. and, being a superstitious person, i decided i could never, ever wash it or else the (hilariously doomed, but i was deluded at that point) relationship was DOOMED. it actually worked for a few years- you know how sometimes if you let a dirty thing sit for awhile it’s magically clean? that kept happening ! and so, long after the doomed relationship met its doom (not with a bang, but a whimper) i continued to not wash it.
at this point, its magic has run out; it’s cruddy, smelly, stained, and stiff. i brought it to work because it’s too gross to have in my house (priorities !) and i keep it under my desk in a dansko clog box.
there it is… standing up by itself, on its own stiff points made of crud, protecting an already-doomed romance i can barely remember ! it would be beautiful if it wasn’t so fucking gross.
i brought this up because i mis-remembered the print of the hanky and thought it looked like this ugly dress, but it totally doesn’t, so i wrote all that for nothing. maybe that dress will bring someone many years of grossness, too.