Last Saturday morning as the Mister and I were almost to the airport where he was going to catch a flight to Charlotte, North Carolina, I finally looked at what he was wearing. And probably visibly blanched.
“Is that the shirt with the large, horrible paint stain on the back?” I asked, knowing full well the answer. The man rarely buys his own shirts anymore, somehow believing that Walmart and Target won’t let married men into their stores.
“Yes, it is,” he replied.
I said a silent prayer of thanks that I wouldn’t be walking through Bush Intercontinental Airport next to him as everyone stared and wondered what happened to his shirt (for the record, he backed into some paint years ago while wearing his beloved Land’s End Super-T with pocket).
Later I texted him and reminded him to please change his shirt at the hotel so that all of Charlotte also wouldn’t be wondering why his wife let him out of the house dressed like that. Does eye rolling register in a text message?
After 22 years of marriage, the Mister knows that there are certain much-loved raggedy, comfy, stained shirts he can wear in the house and the backyard. But he’s been told by his lovely wife that once those pieces of cloth can be seen by the public—including in the front yard—they are gone!
Well, except for this abstractly painted Super-T. For some reason (perhaps insanity from beating my head against the wall), I’ve allowed the man to hang on to it even though it’s occasionally been seen outside the radius of our house. I never dreamed, though, that the shirt would actually travel out of state. It totally snuck through my wifely radar.
The good news is that I’ve ordered the Mister three more Land’s End Super-Ts with pockets (have to have that pocket!). They should be here by the time he returns this weekend.
Let’s hope he loves them as much as the old paint-splattered one . . . which will somehow manage to disappear in the near future as I spring into magician mode.