A couple of old shirt tales

You high school fashionistas won't believe it, but there was a time (when I had about four kids in junior high/high school) that golf shirts were the fashion item of the year. They came in all colors, solids and stripes, with matching or contrasting collars, and they were worn with jeans by both boys and girls.

The colors were not gender specific, nor were the cuts nor the styles. In fact you could find the exact same shirt in the boys or the girls departments of any store. The coveted ones featured embroidered logos on the front, of which Izod Alligators were the hottest.

We were not above saving little Izod Alligators when their shirts wore out and sewing them onto generic shirts.

The fact that the shirts were worn by both boys and girls meant that we ended up with quite an accumulation of shirts that could correctly be worn by anybody in the family. The Butterbean law on the use and abuse of wearables was, “If it can be worn by anyone, it will be.” But not at the same time.

Mornings in the Butterbean household used to go something like this—the case of your brother or sister wearing your shirt:

“Way to go.” (Said while snarling.)

“What?” (Sweet innocence.)

“Way to wear my shirt without asking.” (Louder snarl.)

“What shirt?” (More innocence.)

“Duh, the one you have on.”

“You weren't here, so I couldn't ask you.”

“So wear it anyway. What if I wanted to wear it?”

“You never wear this shirt.”

“That's because it is always dirty from you wearing it.”

Not bad, huh? I didn't raise politicians, but some of them must have missed their callings.

Then there was the case of the disappearing shirt:

“Mom, have you seen my shirt?”

“What shirt?” (This line appears in every scene.)

“My blue shirt from the GAP.”

“I didn't wear it.” (I was trying to be funny, but shirt-boy didn't laugh.)

“I haven't seen it since my big sister left for college.”

“Why would she take it? She has one just like it.”

“No she doesn't.”

“Yes she does; she was wearing it when she left.”

“That was mine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, she wore it first, before I even had a chance to.”

“Then how should I know whose it is?

“You bought it for me.”

“Does she know that?”

“Of course.”

“Well, I didn't know it wasn't hers.”

“Mom, now what am I supposed to wear?”

Now what was I supposed to say? I was in trouble all the time. But it got worse. Just one more scenario:

“Mom, guess what?”

“What?”

“It's bad. It's getting really bad.”

“How bad is it?”

“Mom, listen to this. It's bad enough when I go down town and see my little sister wearing my shirt, but I just saw her friend wearing my shirt and I thought it was upstairs in my drawer.”

“What shirt?”