Sometimes I wish I’d have let the air our of my glow-in-the-dark inflatable chair and packed it away until now. I want another one. And my non-matching tie-dye pillow.
Oh, and my vintage chenille peacock blanket that my mother would hide when we had company. She always replaced that comforter with a plain pink one. Way to tramp on my style, mom.
Maybe I plain want to be 8 years old again. Can someone make that happen?