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I have had this shirt since I was 13. It was too big then and I used to wear it with — oh, the shame — stirrup pants. It’s still too big, to be honest, but that’s just another reason why I love it so.

About six years ago when I was in Venice, the night when I made out with a random Italian whose name, as far as I can remember, started with the letter R, and my roommate (and wifey!) Emily held onto my purse (that I still had on my shoulder) the entire time I made out with him so I wouldn’t disappear off into the Venetian night with some random Italian whose name, as far as I can remember, started with the letter R, this girl slept over at our apartment because she didn’t want to go all the way back to her place and I gave her this t-shirt to wear to sleep in our fold-out dresser bed. Yes, fold-out dresser bed. Which means that it was a fake dresser with a fold-out bed inside of it. We also had plastic lawn furniture. It was a classy place. And anyway, when I handed her the shirt, she looked at it like “Uh…” and I said “Yeah sorry there are a lot of holes in it. I’ve had it since I was 13.” I believe she asked if I hadn’t been able to buy new shirts since I was 13, and I informed her that it was still perfectly good and I was going to keep it until it fell apart. How do I remember so clearly the events from a night (six years ago, mind you) when I was incredibly, ah, inebriated? Easy. Just because I can’t remember anything important ever, it doesn’t mean that the completely random crap doesn’t stick in my brain forever, because it does. Oh, it does. I even remember the dream I had that night: we were being chased by Gray Sweatshirt Guy and this girl Jillian helped us escape by driving a vaporetto, except it wasn’t a vaporetto so much as it was a really really big gondola. Seriously. I gave up trying to figure out how my brain works a really long time ago. It was for the best.

My point is that this incident was six years ago so it’s been through a lot since then. Every time I pull it off the shelf I wonder how much this shirt has to fall apart before I officially declare that it has fallen apart, and I’m not sure. Except I think that one of the sleeves has to fall off entirely. Or maybe both of the sleeves have to fall off entirely? Or maybe the shirt has to disconnect itself from its collar? I don’t know, though, because all of these things just make it sound like the shirt would be even more comfortable. I was going to say that perhaps at some point it will completely cease to exist and then it will be the most perfect t-shirt in the universe, like the ultimate Zen cotton experience, but then I changed my mind because I don’t really want to go there.

Do I have a point? Nope. It’s just that this is really a very good shirt, and honestly, if I’ve gotta write a post a day for 30 days then this had to happen at some point, right?

Exactly.

(Note: Not the same blue t-shirt mentioned in the post about wearing my bra outside of my shirt in public.)

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