When colours run
100 words
When you met me at the start you saw I was fluffy, softly expansive. Full fibred and ready to spread, to fill the latent moments. I didn’t bother with the care instructions because, surely, it was obvious. A gentle rinse repeat. Then I met you and you shrank me, until I was stiff and distorted like that jumper from the too hot wash. Like a cushion cover that no longer zips round the stuffing – almost but not quite. It wasn’t as if you didn’t know how to care, instead you looked at my label then turned up the temperature anyway.
Photo by Maria Miguel Cardeiro on Unsplash
Oh! If this is a metaphor I’ll hunt down the bastards that did the shrinking and put them through a boil wash. BTW, the very lovely unshrinkable Gill asked me yesterday how you were.