“Crap!” I had rarely infused so much frustration in a single word.
Tom paused his frenzied packing to look at me. His face paled when he saw my indigo fingers.
“This bag is ruined.” I walked to the sink and rubbed my sullied hand. A part of the dye came off but the rest stuck to my skin determined to scream ‘fail’ to every passerby.
“At least, you didn’t put the whole lot together.”
“But we have to go! And we’ll never have enough with what’s left.”
Why did I decide to make bath fizzies for my sister’s baby shower?
This is a drabble for this prompt.