I loved that yellow shirt.

It was bright, comfortable, spring-ee….

It was everything one could hope for when digging through their closet in those half-awaken hours, trying to figure out what you were going to wear.

Everyone’s got their own system.  There are The Planners, who figure it all out the night before and have it separated from the herd.  Then there’s the What’s Clean crowd, which bases their decision solely on what isn’t in the hamper.  I tend to be a Routine Dressers.  I have my stable of favorite shirts that I pair with jeans most days.  “Have I worn that this week?  No?  Good!”  Earning a spot in the starting lineup was a yellow shirt.

Not a soft yellow, mind you, but a vibrant one.  A shirt that produced smiles, that showed I wasn’t neutral.  A shirt that I was very proud to have found on sale at JC Penney for an amazing price.

Until last week.

I was sitting at the kitchen table when my wife, Victoria, said those fateful words: “There’s something wrong with your shirt!”

How could that be?  Not THIS shirt?  What….what was wrong?

“It looks like it’s on inside out.”

I made a beeline to the nearest bathroom, turned on the light and approached the mirror.  I looked at the side she had pointed out.  Then at the other side.  They didn’t match.

One had a flap around the seam of the arm, the other didn’t.

It became apparent that the manufacturer had sewn together two halves of a shirt—one the right way and the other inside out. And I had been wearing this for months.  Inspector #71, I hate you!

So, goodbye favorite yellow shirt.  I had trusted you.  For just a moment, I thought about donating you to Goodwill or the Salvation Army, to allow you to take one more person on this adventure.  But instead, you’ll be spending the rest of your days in a landfill.

Maybe, just maybe, you’ll be reincarnated as a perfectly sewn-together Tommy Bahama.

I’ll look for you at the discount rack.

Tim Hunter