It's gorgeous. Simply perfect. In the interest of full disclosure, I must say that the shirt was sent to me for review. I didn't buy it. I received no compensation other than the shirt itself. The expectation was that I would write something wonderful about the product, but there was no penalty if I slammed it. Publicity was the goal and I was happy to provide it if the price I had to pay was receipt of a free t-shirt.
Because I love t-shirts. All kinds of t-shirts. I rarely buy unadorned models; the shirt has to speak to me in order to make the cut. Concert tees are annoyingly over-priced which makes the fact that I simply have to have one all the more irritating. And yet I do have to have one. Each and every time. I know that wearing it later on will bring me back, if only for a moment or two, to the crush of happy bodies singing along with the band. I'll remember the weather and the company and the way the music made me feel. If I have to pay too much money now for the fabulous feeling in the future, well, I'm okay with the whole thing.
I'm purging my closets now, as I come out of the fog of healing. Doing laundry is literally a pain in the ass, since bending and grabbing the errant garment or two often results in TBG screaming "Are you okay???????" from the far reaches of the house. Over time, he's learned that my screech is worse than my injury. He no longer comes dashing to my side, frantically looking to save me. This is progress..... and a digression. Back to laundry and t-shirts. There is a connection, I promise you.
As I fold each shirt I examine it for wear and tear. I consider its emotional appeal. Most of all, I evaluate its comfort level. If it passes muster it goes into the cubby. There's always been a treasure trove of cast offs from the kids and the spouse to cover my nakedness, as well. Too big, very comfy, stained and ragged, these are the ones I love the most. I can't give them away, but eventually they become unwearable, held together by hopeful strands of fabric.
If I can't wear it but can't bear to lose it into the quilt-that-I-want-but-don't-know-how-to-make bag it goes. I have a fantasy quilt in my head, comprised of the logos from these much loved tees. If Not-Kathy would ever move to Tucson I know that she would help me create it. For now, I'm just collecting pieces.
It's not an easy decision. I had a good time at the Sausalito Art Fair in 2004, but the picture on the shirt is hard and cracked and it's never felt good to wear this one.
Into the quilt bag or off to Goodwill? There are no holes or stains; I'm not embarrassed to hand it down to someone who could use it. I can't really remember if that was the year I saw Rat Dog or Los Lobos at the Festival. Away with you!
I have a lot of shirts that chronicle my children's education and sports careers. For a long period of time I was a walking advertisement for private education and traveling team sports.
I moved from their accomplishments to my own after that. Master Gardening provided gorgeous opportunities to clothe myself
and interviewing prospective Cornellians did the same.
I've already shown you the panoply of t-shirts which have come after I got shot.
And I could go on and on with a tour through my history and my adventures.
I love that my closet is a reprise of my life. Names, dates, occasions - memorialized forever in wearable 100% cotton.