Pretty in Pink
Made a lot of progress on the Pink Fiesta Upside-Downer this weekend:

I wish I was 6 years old so *I* could wear this!


I'm hoping to finish PFUD by the end of the week. I think the Aran Poncho may be going to Portland, too, for my sister. I wore it this weekend and really liked it, but I think she'd get more wear out of it.

Welcome to My World
The scene: My sis and me shopping at Wally World in Portland last August. 5yo niece ensconced comfortably in the shopping cart. The mission: Purchase new panties for me, because mine somehow, ahem, disappeared from my packed suitcase enroute from San Diego to Portland. Dear Alaska Airline Employee Who Stole My Underwear: Are you getting a thrill? Geez, they were just plain old tighty-whities … not even Victoria's Secret Angels underwear. More like Victoria's Secret if they made a Civil Servant line.

So here we are, maneuvering a huge plastic 'n metal cart through overstuffed aisles and departments, doing the Good Consumer Bit along the way (plastic hair thingies for Niece since they're always getting lost, munchies that sis 'n me definitely don't need, hair gel, etc.) Eventually, we weave our way into the Intimate Apparel department. I pick out some new underpants (are you listening, Alaska Employee? Don't miss your chance for fun on my return trip!) The IA department is particularly stuffed with all manner of lacey, poofy, padded undergarments. It's nearly impossible to steer the Monster Cart through the aisles without snagging a bustier or three.

We finish our undercover work and head toward the checkout registers at the front of the store. "Do you hear that noise?" asks my sister. "No, I only hear Olivia singing that same Veggie Tales tune over and over," I reply. We unload the cart at the register: underwear, snacks, kid, hair junk. My sister leans down and snags something off the wheels of the cart and holds it up for inspection. Dangling from a plastic hangar is a very tiny, gold 'n black metallic leopard print thong panty, profusely trimmed with black marabou feathers. Apparently, it had gotten snagged off a display and caught on the cart's wheels. The thong's high-speed wheel flapping accounted for the rhythmic "fluh, fluh, fluh, fluh" noise my sister had heard.

The cashier was a no-nonsense, older woman. The three of us looked at the thong, then at each other. Wordlessly, the cashier motioned for the thong. Sis handed it to her. She flung it into a restocking box under the counter, and proceeded to ring us up without a word. We managed to make it out to the car before totally falling apart with laughter.