The Awful Life And Times Of T-Shirts
Being one of my t-shirts is not an easy task. You get beat up all day long and then washed improperly at some point, if washed at all, before being thrown in the "clean" pile on my floor. One of the advantages of living a completely disorganized existence is that things like laundry are really simple.
When you have the honor of being one of my t-shirts, your day begins as a wad of clothing on the floor at the foot of my bed. You may be clean, but you're most likely classified as "mostly not dirty." You are then picked up at random, sniffed thoroughly, and then picked as my very special t-shirt-of-the-day.
After waking up, you get to enjoy some morning stretches as one of my t-shirts. Because I am an unhealthy blob of a man, most of my t-shirts don't fit me so well anymore. This is rectified by putt my shirt on only halfway and jamming my elbows outward to literally jam the tee over my body more comfortably.
Once you have been ripped and pulled out of shape, you get to join me for breakfast. Breakfast is awesome, unless you are one of my t-shirts. Since it is early morning, I am much more of a disgusting klutz than usual, and I will undoubtedly decorate part of my shirt with a dribble of milk from my oversized cereal bowl.
The rest of your day is spent mostly functioning as t-shirts function...as clothing. A good 10% of your day, however, is spent as my personal bib/napkin. It is far too much trouble looking for an actual napkin, so you get the gritty task of cleaning undesirable messes from my fingertips. Gravy, motor oil, and bacon grease are all likely to end up as new stains that will take several washes to make disappear.
Depending on the severity of your appearance, you may end up going back into the "clean" clothes mound at the bottom of my bed. It is entirely possible that you did not suffer too many noticeable stains and can be worn again the next day. If this is so, then you are one of the lucky t-shirts. The unlucky t-shirts must go...to the wash.
Your experience in the washing machine with the other dirty t-shirts is not a pleasant one. I have learned a long time ago that it takes really hot water to get out most food stains, so you are punished severely for my sloppiness. You will most likely shrink, but your ritual morning-stretching will return you to the appropriate shape and size.
Being one of my t-shirts is terrible. You are mistreated, abused, neglected, and taken for granted every day. Perhaps one day, there is a t-shirt heaven waiting for you. Right now, though, you must go through hell...and that hell exists on the back of a sweating, sloppy, fat man.
When you have the honor of being one of my t-shirts, your day begins as a wad of clothing on the floor at the foot of my bed. You may be clean, but you're most likely classified as "mostly not dirty." You are then picked up at random, sniffed thoroughly, and then picked as my very special t-shirt-of-the-day.
After waking up, you get to enjoy some morning stretches as one of my t-shirts. Because I am an unhealthy blob of a man, most of my t-shirts don't fit me so well anymore. This is rectified by putt my shirt on only halfway and jamming my elbows outward to literally jam the tee over my body more comfortably.
Once you have been ripped and pulled out of shape, you get to join me for breakfast. Breakfast is awesome, unless you are one of my t-shirts. Since it is early morning, I am much more of a disgusting klutz than usual, and I will undoubtedly decorate part of my shirt with a dribble of milk from my oversized cereal bowl.
The rest of your day is spent mostly functioning as t-shirts function...as clothing. A good 10% of your day, however, is spent as my personal bib/napkin. It is far too much trouble looking for an actual napkin, so you get the gritty task of cleaning undesirable messes from my fingertips. Gravy, motor oil, and bacon grease are all likely to end up as new stains that will take several washes to make disappear.
Depending on the severity of your appearance, you may end up going back into the "clean" clothes mound at the bottom of my bed. It is entirely possible that you did not suffer too many noticeable stains and can be worn again the next day. If this is so, then you are one of the lucky t-shirts. The unlucky t-shirts must go...to the wash.
Your experience in the washing machine with the other dirty t-shirts is not a pleasant one. I have learned a long time ago that it takes really hot water to get out most food stains, so you are punished severely for my sloppiness. You will most likely shrink, but your ritual morning-stretching will return you to the appropriate shape and size.
Being one of my t-shirts is terrible. You are mistreated, abused, neglected, and taken for granted every day. Perhaps one day, there is a t-shirt heaven waiting for you. Right now, though, you must go through hell...and that hell exists on the back of a sweating, sloppy, fat man.
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