The retailer was desperate to get the mint green shirt out of the store.
The only thing attractive about the shirt was the price and the fact it was my beloved’s favorite style. It found its way to our home along with its evil twin, a tacky peach colored number.
After a long, happy life, the peach shirt transitioned to the dumpster. As a compromise, the mint green shirt was given a stay of execution. It flaps in voluminous waves, an indicator it has stretched in size far beyond the boundaries of its owner.
Attempts to sneak it to the Goodwill truck failed. The shirt is so ugly that the washer refused to eat it. The shirt could survive a nuclear attack. It has survived bleach strong enough to melt plastic.
I ordered two new shirts; thankfully, mint green was no longer available. I could hardly wait for the new shirts to arrive, secure in the knowledge the hideous mint green shirt would finally be discarded.
The shirts arrived and it pleased hubby to have new additions in his favorite style.
Just as I was ready to scoop up the mint green shirt to discard in the dumpster, he snatched it and clasped it to his chest. You’d have thought I attempted to murder the cat.
Saving the shirt has become a matter of principle and he refuses to part with it.
I observe him monitoring its whereabouts on laundry day. Carefully worded, diplomatic suggestions regarding the green shirt, advanced by Tuesday’s child, his favorite daughter, go unanswered.
He has two other ugly shirt options, yet he clings to the mint green number.
There is the ugly blue shirt that bears a striking resemblance to the one the homeless man who camps by the post office wears. It is skimpy with buttons gaping every three inches. Failing that selection, there is the backup nauseous maroon shirt that even the most devoted Texas Aggie wouldn’t own.
If you know anyone who has a child that in need of a science project, ask them to contact me.