Finally, I got around to grabbing up one of those sweetly adorned, perversely messaged tees from Paris outfit, Locher’s. On sale! I pat myself on the back for my crackerjack style AND fiscal savvy.

Most excellent advice was attached to the garment’s label - never ever lend this shirt to a friend, you’ll never get it back. And it’s true! But in my case, the main culprits pilfering my stash of screened t-shirts are not my best girl friends, but rather those amorous boyflings who’ve passed in and out of my life.

Popular myth dictates that it’s the ex-girlfriend who nabs the old college sweatshirt or the broken in jeans, the favorite concert tee from high school. I’m here to tell you that’s a load of shit. At the demise of any affair, amicable or otherwise, I go out of my way to return cherished garments. Or books. A beer stein. Hell, I even dropped a CD in the mail. A CD! Like anyone even uses those anymore. But it’s important: the act of returning an item signifies my respect of this thing in his life. Even if I think he sucks.*

Items of mine that have been sacrificed to St. Anthony? Two deeply cherished t-shirts - one from a now-defunct magazine where I used to work, and one from my high school marching band. I can tell you that in both cases I earned them through months of humiliation, debasement, and suffering! And these cats just waltz out of my life, la dee da, with what amounts to my war prizes. My scalps! My pelts! I earned the right to rape & pillage that swag closet!

But that’s tip of the iceberg stuff. Other items include my great-grandmother’s china, a full-size Simmons mattress (pillow top) and box spring, a 1995 Nissan Altima, a pair of domestic short haired cats, a few toothbrushes, an earring and a few hairclips here and there.

In short - I’ve been screwed. Royally.

I can’t understand why these people would hold on to my things, my memories - for surely their memories imbued in that shirt, that book, that thing, can’t be important…or certainly not as important as it is to me. They’re things - I get that - I mean, I saw Labyrinth. Losing a t-shirt isn’t going to make me forget the humiliation and subjugation I endured as a well-paid indentured servant. I know this.

But I still think it’s shitty to hold onto something that isn’t yours.

*In all honesty, I don’t think any of them suck. After all, that would speak more about my poor taste/choices than their character flaws, and I can’t have anyone doubting my impeccable taste in music, shoes, or men.