Last night, Annie brought pizza Home. I was starving and it smelled delicious. Eagerly I grabbed a slice and chomped in. It was a little overfilled and some sauce oozed out the other side, landing on my shirt.
“Oh for the Love of…! That’s it. I am this close to quitting!”
My eyes widened. Slowly chewing, I looked around the room. “Who said that?” my words partially obscured by half-masticated dough and cheese.
“I did! Jerk.”
“Who?” I timidly shrank back into myself.
“Your shirt! Did you just see what you did to me?”
“My shirt? My…shirt. Well” (clearing my throat) “yeah, but it was an accident.” I looked up, glad to know Annie and the girls were still in the other room.
“It was an accident” it repeated, mocking my tone. “When did you last wash me?”
“Uhm…”
“Yeah, I thought so. You know, back in shirt college, we were given many warnings about what may happen to us, especially the men’s shirts. We were told that we will be worn far beyond the ends of our careers, until we were threadbare. In some extreme cases, men can continue wearing us after we died. What’s wrong with you people? Running around covered with a corpse? We were told we would endure parties and camping trips and dirt and food and spilled things. We were told that if we were owned by Dads we should count on some baby spit up.”
“Shirt College?”
“Yes. Now pay attention.”
“Sorry.”
“Whatever. Anyway, I still recall the day. Some really loud Hawaiian print raised its sleeve and asked about Stay-At-Home Dads. Our instructor, an old grey pullover sweatshirt with the word ‘college’ across the chest replied, ‘Well, for starters, I don’t think that’s something for you to worry about! I’m guessing you are going to be in the closet of a Grandpa!’ All the shirts laughed. Ha Ha Ha soooo funny. Then the instructor went on, ‘Stay-At-Home Dads are not all that common, I doubt many, if any of you will end up there.’ I sighed with relief. I was still concerned about being bought by a Frat Boy and getting puked on, but at least a Stay-At-Home Dad could be taken off my list of worries.”
“The instructor had the word ‘College’ across his chest?”
“That’s all you got from that story? Seriously?”
“No! No! I got it all! That part just struck me. That’s all.”
My shirt was silent for several awkward seconds before starting off again. “Then the day came. It was Black Friday and I was drastically marked down, Annie saw me and grabbed me off that rack almost immediately. I was pretty happy. She appeared to come from a decent Home. She dressed tastefully, her sweater…cute little thing with a v-neck, her cleavage looks…”
“Yeah, I know that one, the grey one.”
“It’s actually a shade of green.”
“Really? Looks grey to me.”
“You do that all the time, it irritates me as much as it irritates Annie.”
“Oh.”
“Anyway, that sweater…I found her profile, and I swiped right! We might be an item sometime soon. Except for one little thing.”
“What’s that?”
“I. Am. Filthy!”
“Yeah…sorry.”
“I was so happy when Annie brought me Home. The kids were no longer newborns. That means no spit-up. You were in your forties, you don’t go out often. You were just going to wear me around the house and when you are writing. And bonus! You are diligent when it comes to laundry! I thought I had it made in the shade! Low-grade work, and the gig was practically always indoors!”
“Now you wait one cotton-picking minute here. You are not used enough to warrant getting washed all the time. I am fully cleaned and fully dressed before I put you on and do my thing around here. I wear you as I do my work around the house. You’re not so much a shirt as you are an indoor jacket…of sorts. You’re my Writing Shirt! I always wear you when I’m writing. Now…in my defense, I was kind of thinking perhaps this pizza stain would be a good reason to take you to the laundry.”
“KIND of thinking that? Dude, I am a nice flannel! What are you doing here? You should be stripping me off and tossing me in the washer right now. No! Stop with the baby wipe. A baby wipe isn’t going to cut it.
“You blaspheme. Baby wipes fix everything and anything.”
That’s not what I meant. Of course baby wipes fix everything and anything. But come on! Show some respect! You need to put me in that machine like now! So, I will ask again, how long has it been since I was washed?”
“You know? I don’t think you have EVER been washed! I think I put you on within an hour of unwrapping the gift!”
“Ding Ding Ding! He wins the prize!”
“A prize? Cool! For what?”
“For being a disgusting person who never washes me.”
“Oh. But I always have a tee shirt underneath you, I drape you across the couch at the end of the day. I’m gentle with you.”
“You suck at rolling sleeves.”
“You sound like Annie.”
“I’m not. But I am just about as opinionated. As you pulled me out of the gift box I thought ‘this is the life! This is too good to be true!’ Turns out, I was right! It was too good to be true. I swear, I’m on the verge of sprouting legs if you don’t get me into that washing machine STAT!
“Okay! Okay!”
“It was almost torture, every day going downstairs with you to get the laundry done, wondering if this is the day, the day where he will peel me off of him and toss me in. It never happened. Even your boxers are starting to avoid me. Me! I’m a nice flannel! I have a decent pattern, decent color. Buttons all match. I was starting to think ‘Once a month man! Just try washing me, oh I dunno, maybe once a month? Did I mention? You suck at rolling your own sleeves.”
“You did mention that. Now shut up and let me have my pizza.”
“Wash me!”
“You’ve driven the point Home. Again, shut up and let me eat!”
“Honey?”
I screamed in alarm. “Hey Annie! What’s up?”
“Who are you yelling at?”
“Uh…”