It's just one of those pieces of clothing that is so bleeping comfortable you can't throw it away. It's like an old friend. That grey, flimsy, ridiculously faded material has a road map of my adult life blotched all over it. When I put it on, it's better than clean underwear. It's the feeling of finding that one comfortable spot and falling asleep. It fits so nicely over my belly that it's not constricting, weirdly (is that a word?) big nor do I have to pull it down constantly. Holes and stains only increase the comfort thus its value. I sleep in it, I've cut grass in it, I've shopped, played hockey, gotten my hair done, traveled, swam and been sick in it. I've moved, cleaned the house, cooked, been depressed, been happy, been angry and been hungry in it. I've argued with Sharb in it, I've made up with Sharb in it and I think I may have had it on before getting pregnant by Sharb. That shirt is a necessity. It's like my old favorite doll saved from child hood.
I would trade 10 new shirts for that one. Every time I wear it I get nagged "When are you gonna throw that thing away?" I can't throw it away. He doesn't understand. No one does. I may want to give birth and be buried in it. I love that shirt.
