On Saturday, it was a nice day here in Michigan. Overcast and near 60F. (Well, that's nice for this time of year.) I dressed the part, and put on jeans and a T-shirt. And not just any T-shirt. My favorite T-shirt.
I'm guessing this is a guy thing, based on my experience. But we tend to cling to certain clothes until...well...someone makes us get rid of them. For example, as long as there are no holes in our underwear in certain key places, there's no point in replacing them. One of my brothers held on to this yellow T-shirt for about ten years past it's prime. You could literally count his chest hairs through it. (Okay, not really, since, unlike myself, his chest is as hairy as a Grizzly. I, on the other hand, have, at last count, a grand total of five hairs on my chest.)
So, I have this T-shirt. And, unlike the yellow onion-skin my brother wore, mine is in very good shape. In fact, it really looks almost new. Which is exactly why I love the shirt so much. It is in great condition, and extraordinarily comfortable to wear.
But as I was driving down the highway with my family in tow, my wife politely informs me that I'm not allowed to wear my favorite T-shirt anymore.
"Why?" I asked. "Is it the collar?"
I guess I should explain that this shirt doesn't actually have a collar. I'm talking about the little circle of material that the head goes through. On this particular T-shirt, there is this almost Aztec looking pattern weaved into the material.
My wife laughed, but I wasn't sure if she was laughing at me, or my collar.
"What?"
"Honey, that shirt is so eighties it's ridiculous."
Now, right there, I knew she was wrong. After all, I didn't buy the shirt until I was in college. Probably 1992. So, she was wrong at the get-go. But I knew better than to argue the point. Because, despite being off by a decade, the fact remained, my T-shirt is fourteen years old.
I wasn't going to concede so easily, however.
"What do you mean? It has stripes! Stripes never go out of style!"
She laughed again, and at this point I was pretty sure she was laughing at me, not my collar.
"Yes, you're right. Stripes never go out of style. I'll give you that."
But she had made her point, and it made me sad. This T-shirt was important to me. Nevermind it has vibrant shades of a color somewhere between purple, red, and pink. (Striped, of course.) And an Aztek collar. But it was cool looking, once upon a time. Really, it was. And it's lived a long and properous life.
And as we continued to drive, I settled in to the fact that she was right. She's always right, which is altogether annoying at times. (Like when she insists we're supposed to turn left, and I say we have to turn right, and so I turn right only to discover a couple miles later that we should have turned left. Not that such a thing ever happens. Eh-hem.)
So, my favorite T-shirt will be relegated to housework duty. You know, things like painting, or perhaps...well, no. Pretty much just painting. But that seems almost mean. My T-shirt deserves better. And, as the Purple Heart is coming by to pick up donations in a couple weeks, I suppose it deserves a new home.
Now, if you'll excuse me. I have to mourn the loss of something important...
