The last time you wore a t-shirt?

David-Dad-1976-photo boothHere’s a fun game we can all play (If you like games like I do).

Tell me about the last time you wore a t-shirt. Or any time you wore a t-shirt that you remember well.

Make it fun, tell a little story. No pressure. Seriously.

I want to hear your story.

It doesn’t have to be a novella or anything. I (and I think other people) just want to read a short yarn. It could be funny, weird, emotional, angry, philosophical, whatever. It’s probably best to just let it spill out of your keyboard without thinking too much.

Here’s my story and maybe you can use it for inspiration:

I have two full drawers of t-shirts. What can I say, I’m a t-shirt person. After showering off the working-til-3:00 AM grunge, I confronted my selection of t-shirts and asked who was willing to cover my upper torso. Every shirt raised its hand. I picked the faded, thinning, stainy-armpit blue one. There’s a reason it’s fairly beat up and sad – it’s my favorite. I put it on and immediately thought of Jenni, who would want to rip it up and turn it into a laundry room rug. I also thought of my dad, who gave me his old, wearing-thin “Eat One” Florida Orange shirt, long ago when it hung over my skinny frame like a set of drapes. Whatever happened to that shirt?

See? That’s it. A little stream-of-consciousness, a little weirdness. A sort of gazpacho of tales.

Your turn. Tell your story in the comments below. And send a friend here so they can share in the weirdness!

4 Responses to The last time you wore a t-shirt?

  1. It was three or four days ago. I planned to spend the day doing housework and watching Netflix with my young daughters, so grabbing the oversized, dark-green tee that I had received free from a student orientation event at my university last year seemed fitting. I had been alternating between dishes and laundry for several hours when my 7-year-old suddenly asked, “Mom? Why does your shirt say Coca-Cola on it?”
    I peered down, but there was no need. The screen printing on the front of the shirt said “The Green Man Group,” a supposedly humorous nod to our athletes and school color.
    “It doesn’t.” I replied, stooping to lift a basket of laundry.
    “Yes it does!” she insisted. “I’m reading it right now!”
    Wait – was there writing on the back of my shirt? I’d forgotten. I closed my eyes and tried to picture the back of the shirt. “Coca-Cola” scrolled in white across the green fabric appeared in my mind’s eye.
    “Oh, sorry, you’re right,” I said, feeling very stupid.
    “But seriously, why does it say Coca-Cola on your shirt?”
    “Um, probably because… Coca-Cola paid for the shirts.”
    “Oh. Why?”
    “Because they want people at PSU to drink Coca-Cola.”
    “Oh, okay. That makes sense.”

    Thoughts of ethics, cradle-to-grave advertising, corporate greed, and soda machines in middle schools swirled through my head. I have so much to teach my daughters, to protect them. But Ariel was already focused on her journaling yet again, so I would save this lesson for another day.

  2. A few nights ago my youngest daughter got sick and threw up in my face. Literally in my face, and all over me. It was a split second decision by me to face her in towards me to try to contain it, or point her outwards. I maintain the belief that it was just water.
    After we showered i needed to find another set of pajamas for myself. I picked a very ratty shirt I had received from a mud run I did two years ago. The kind of mud run where you feel pretty badass (and very muddy) afterwards. The free shirt that year was sponsored by a *name brand* t-shirt company, the kind where you pay extra for everyone to see their fancy name and design on it. As such, it was a thin shirt, with rips in the hems, because, you know, that’s *fancy*.
    The next morning was normally a gym day. However, being still sick, I couldn’t take my daughter with me. So it was a workout at home in my pajamas day. The armpits of the shirt were badly ripped, and I looked pretty dumb doing my military presses with my armpits all showing. So, I ripped the sleeves off. Oh yea, now I really felt badass. I think I have a new workout shirt.

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