 | | 13/11/2012 01:21
Sur le blog FranniePantz
No Wine-ers Allowed
Don't think I'm gross (or do, I don't really care), but this sweater was my Grandmother's. And I got it when she passed away from my Grampa. And I have never washed it. And I never will. It still smells like her. It still has some makeup smeared on the collar. Every so often, I find one of her hairs woven in the fabric. This was my Grandma's favorite sweater. She wore it to church, on holidays or even just around the house. I can still picture her sitting on the couch, with a Marlboro Light lit in one hand, a smile on her face, one leg under her butt and one on the floor. My Grandmother was a Southern woman. She had a twang in her voice and a passion for...
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