I know I have broached the subject of my husband’s reluctance to bid farewell to his holey underwear, but what I didn’t mention that this habit of his is not limited to underwear alone. First, let me say that he is clearly a good sport (does this even need saying?) and tolerates a good ribbing well. He even played bunco with my Bunco Babes Friday night, after helping me make breakfast for dinner for the whole group, and ignoring the fact that he already spends way too much time in the company of only women and would have preferred a poker night with the boys. I have to give him kudos before I embark on my latest episode of oversharing.

So, the other night we were both in the laundry room folding laundry. This, in and of itself, is an oddity. Travis almost never folds laundry, and when he does, it is almost exclusively in my absence, and because some specific piece of attire is imminently needed, and I am unavailable to fold it. I’m sure he joined me because it was late and he was extremely concerned that I get to bed quickly so I could get a full and complete night’s sleep. You have to appreciate that type of selfless love and concern for my well-being.

We were folding the whites, and every once in a while I would toss a random something into a basket that is tucked neatly in the bottom of the closet where I fold clothes. At one point, Travis says, “Hey, is that one of my t-shirts?” I reply, “What?” He says, “That thing you threw in the basket. Is that mine?” I look at him quizzically and reply, “What thing? Where? What? When?” I overplayed my hand with my quizzical confusion, causing additional suspicion, so he walked around me and reached into the hidden basket and pulled out one of the items in question. He says, “This! This is my t-shirt.” I casually respond, “Oh, that. Yes, that is your t-shirt. Your t-shirt from before we were married 25 year ago. Your t-shirt from when you weighed 127 pounds. Do I need to do the math for you on the weight thing? Your t-shirt that is 100% polyester from back in the day when polyester was new and everyone thought it should be in every garment of clothing. Your t-shirt that used to be white, but is now a tad gray. Your t-shirt that has holes in the armpits because it is being unkindly stretched in all directions. Your t-shirt that makes you look like Baby Huey. That t-shirt? Yes, it’s that t-shirt. Your t-shirt.” Then, he reaches into the abyss of the hidden basket again and finds the t-shirt’s mates. All three of them. I am sure they came in a package of four, so now he has the complete set of four, all reunited through time and space.

At this point, I am crying and laughing at the same time. He says, “Just what were you planning to do with these?” I say, “Why honey, I was going to mend the armpits and extend the length and see if you could get a few more decades of use out of them, of course.” But he’s on to me and says, “Hey! You!” and tucks the four shirts under his arm. At this point, I am close to pissing my pants because I am laughing so hard, and I am of the age that laughing and pissing sometimes are bedfellows. Poor Travis is laughing a little, but can’t get past the fact that I was getting rid of his precious t-shirts. He persists, “But I like them, and they go under clothes, so who besides you even knows that I look like Baby Huey?” By this point, I can barely talk and folding is definitely over. But I respond between snorts, “Just don’t lift up your arms, or somebody may hear the extension of the tear under your arms, and the shirt may bunch up around your chest.”

So, anyway, Travis was trying to remain a good sport, but was still a little mad, so he never pursued his earlier intentions, which was why he was folding in the first place. So I had a little more time to floss my teeth that night. And I didn’t even have to use it as a stall tactic. I was merely focused on creating superior oral hygiene. And I still cannot understand why he is so attached to these worn clothes. I have been buying packages of white t-shirts and replacing old ones for years. But I always knew the polyester ones would be more noticed, because they are special, or something. I had two of those shirts in that basket for quite some time. I should have exercised more patience and nabbed the others when he wasn’t in the laundry room, which is almost every time I am in the laundry room. Lesson learned. There is always tomorrow…