Hole In My Shirt

There's a hole in my shirt. A Syracuse University basketball shirt, blue, short-sleeved in otherwise good condition, perhaps a bit frayed at the neck, but under the right arm there is now a hole big enough to pass a stack of quarters through. I should probably get rid of it. Instead, I'm wearing it as I type.

The shirt is comfortable both physically and emotionally. I've had it for a long time and can remember receiving it, a gift from my wife, wearing it to SU Women's Basketball games far enough back that there are pictures of Dad and me in The Dome. The physical comfort is nice, but it's the emotional comfort that really gets to me. A friend has one of those thunder-shirts for her dog and this t-shirt is a little like that for me.

Still, I should probably get rid of it. I have other shirts that are just as comfortable in both ways. I have more than enough t-shirts. That's the sort of thing I never have to buy because I just end up with them. They come my way. I end up giving half a dozen to the Rescue Mission at least once a year, but still, the drawer is full. I wouldn't exactly miss this shirt and even if I did, another would come to me soon enough.

I really should get rid of it. There's a line between frugality and stupidity. I can just imagine wearing this somewhere I might have to raise my hand. For some reason I also imagine someone tickling me under the arm through the hole, maybe with the eraser side of a pencil. I'm not sure why such an image comes to me, but there it is.

Tomorrow morning, changing into whatever I'm going to wear for the day, I will pull off this old shirt. Maybe the hole will stretch and rip a bit more. I might even reach through the hole with my thumbs and pull it right apart, making the decision that much easier. Who knows?

Pulling it on this evening after my shower, I thought of Dad who used to wear ripped shirts and socks. He couldn't see any good reason to replace them. They still worked. Mom would eventually throw them out for him and I can imagine the relief of such a thing though I don't want to burden my wife with that duty. I can do it myself, just get rid of the thing.

Still, this thing really is comfortable and it seems a shame to get rid of something with a hole only I know about. Well, now you know too, but do me a favor and don't tell anyone.