Virginia is for lovers, allegedly. Nobody mentioned the part where you sit in four lanes of dead-stopped traffic outside the nation's capital for two hours to go eleven miles, or the part where the state can't decide if it's the South, the Mid-Atlantic, or just one long stretch of highway with a peanut shop every forty exits. The weather does a full seasonal rotation in a single Tuesday. The humidity in July could waterboard a man. And every third town claims to be the birthplace of something nobody asked about.
So yeah, broken heart. You love it here, it just keeps doing you dirty. This is for everybody who swore they were moving somewhere with mountains AND beaches that don't require a three hour drive between them, then renewed the lease anyway.
Cut from a soft, broken-in blend that holds its shape through wash after wash without going scratchy or shrinking into a crop top. Comfortable enough for a couch day, sturdy enough to survive whatever the forecast decides to do next.
