I’ve been sitting in this drawer for months. I wish he wouldn’t eat donuts every day. He can’t even fit me over his sweaty man tits. If he can’t wear me out and about, how is he going to show the world how much he loved Def Leppard back in ‘88? Hysteria was huge. People still care about that album, right?

This guy got me drug out of the merch pile in Little Rock, Arkansas back on February 8th of 1988. He was sixteen years old. I’ve been there for most of the most important days of his life. The first time he fondled a boob: check. The first time he got drunk: check. He was wearing an Iron Maiden shirt the first time he got high though. I’ll never forgive him for that. I was supposed to be there, but I didn’t make it into the laundry the week before.

I was there over the next few years. I was there for college, and for the early part of his career. I haven’t been around as much since. Sure I’m a little beat up now. I’ve got a few holes, and I’m thinner than I used to be. That doesn’t make me less of a shirt, does it?

I’m still the shirt I was when he bought me. At least I still feel like I am. I’m a little weathered now. I definitely show my age, but I’m still the same shirt. I don’t know how we’ve spent this much time together, and he’s still just cast me aside. It isn’t fair. You give your whole life to one person, and then one day you just feel abandoned. You’re cast aside for a newer, brighter shirt. A shirt that hasn’t been dulled by the sun. A shirt that doesn’t have holes worn into it from a belt. A shirt that doesn’t understand that the world is going to chew it up and spit it out.

I don’t know why he won’t get rid of me. I don’t know if it’s the memories we made, or if he’s just too lazy to drive to Goodwill. I don’t want to sit around and wait for it to be my turn to be worn again. I don’t have that much time left before I’m worn out, until I’m too old to be relevant anymore. I’m just a shirt trying to make the most of the time it’s got left. I just want someone to give me a chance.