Several months ago before my birthday, I suggested to the love of my life that I could really use some knit golf shirts. I had two old frayed white golf shirts that are ready for the “rag pile”. So magically on my birthday, four new golf shirts showed up. They were bright colors. They were light weight. One was a red Nike special shirt that “breathes”, feels good and fits like something off the rack at Ralph Lauen (you know a “Polo” brand shirt). Bring on the 2007 golf season.
Well I only had the chance to wear the Nike shirt because my golf exploits have been limited. For Fathers Day I hinted that if Honey ever found another shirt just like the Nike, that would again make a great present. So for Fathers Day I got two more golf shirts. One was a Nike but it was a size to large and the other shirt was an “off brand”. When I indicated that the original Nike shirt was special because it fit so well, Honey decided to return the two Fathers Day shirts to the store plus return all the new shirts from my birthday. I guess her assumption was that I would never wear my “non-Nike” shirts.
By my calculation, I am back to two frayed shirts and a red Nike. You guessed it, all the golf shirts from both special occasions are now back on the rack at the respective stores. The quest for more similar Nike shirts is still being made but in the meantime I am “shirtless in the Fox Valley”.
The good news is that we don’t have to pay for the 5-6 new golf shirts. The bad news is I’m going to have to wear a flannel shirt or possibly a dress shirt with tie when I play golf. Do you know how that looks?
The intent was good. I got to try on lots of shirts. But alas, the the process took a turn and now I am back to “tattered and torn”. Actually the tattered and torn still feels good and maybe it was meant for me to wear them until the material actually disintegrates. Kind of like a kid hanging on to an old blanket or wearing a jacket that looks like it belongs in another century.
The lesson grasshoppers is not all things are as they seem. Sometimes the fantasy disappears right before your eyes. Being shirtless? Brrrrr!
Love,
Dad