A metaphor

This morning, I put a coloured wash through. In it, I put a pair of walking sandals that had been languishing in the bottom of the washing basket for far too long, and were rather unpleasant, to say the least.

When I unloaded the machine, I discovered the colour on the shoes (which had been washed before) had bled into the water and turned a number of lightly coloured items a delightful shade of grey/blue, including my favourite light grey shirt, and more importantly, a beautiful patterned dress my husband bought me for my birthday. Not only was it fairly pricey (and God knows, we're short of money now) but it's also, as they say, the sentimental value that matters more.

I think on relection that the dress is salvageable. The pattern had some white bits in it which are now slightly duller, but I don't think people who didn't see the dress before would notice it. But if anyone has any good suggestions for getting rid of bled colour, I'd be happy to hear them!

I feel in general lately that someone has just put our lives in the washing machine with some nasty colour leaking object, and our previously dazzling life has come out a muted and unpleasant grey.

I just hope that some magic whitener will come along soon to return our lives to the brighter than bright it was before. Some sort of grace-filled non-bio, perhaps.