Ever decide you're just an idiot, I mean IDIOT? I have my moments.
Such was the case when I ended up with olive oil based dressing on my age'd Air Force Academy sweatshirt. It is doomed to die a very slow death but as it does I want it to look frayed not abused.
Off I went to dab away at it, fully aware of the absorbancy rate in cotton sweatshirts opposed to my lackluster movement to get a rag.
Well, next it was time for Shout! I knew there was some around somewhere. I'd seen it. Perhaps I'd even used it on something that went into the laundry a few years ago. It may have been something we moved here seventeen years ago but I just saw it...over there! Yes. Squirted on the Shout! and proceeded to the next activity.
What, please tell? This is far too exciting, right? It was time for me to go on my dog-walking-rounds and I'd planned on wearing that otherwise distinguished and seasoned (no pun intended) sweatshirt as it is all-around good for that sort of work. Alas, the oil seemed to be winning. There was less of it showing but how to be certain and still leave in time?
Only one thing would do. I got the hair dryer out and while wearing the sweatshirt (throughout all this) I applied the dryer to the fabric. It was slow going so I moved it closer. Ah, there, almost done.
I'd stopped, and why? Well, I scorched the spot that had been oiled, then Shout!ed, and now semi-dried.
Pitiful. Off it came and a replacement, less remarkable in many ways. Into the Maytag the AFA sweatshirt went.
Luck would have it, the scorch came out but there must have been too much shouting for that area is just a bit lighter than the rest of the shirt. It'll all blend in time. And, I'm admitting it's just more character to it.
But it could have been as much a disaster as the time I thought I'd dry my gym shoes in the oven. Uh-huh.
As a footnote, or epilogue - you decide - this whole event merely proved to me I am my mother's daughter. I set the table for dinner on a tablecloth she'd had. It had a scorch mark on it.