The shirt off my back
It gives new meaning to the phrase, he’d give you the shirt off his back.
I’d never pay 50 bucks for a shirt, but that’s what I found myself facing as I went out to look for some new ones. Now, you have to remember that the last shirt I bought was for one dollar at a church thrift shop on Cape Cod. And I got that one for 50 percent off; it was originally marked two dollars. It’s a nice shirt. I wear it to work all the time.
Shirts, at least the ones you would be caught dead in, start around fifty bucks. And I needed more because most of my shirts spend most of their time in a pile on the floor of my closet because I never have to time to either a) take them to the cleaners; (or if I actually get them to the cleaners) b) pick them up. I leave for work before the cleaners open and return after they close. My weekends? I get so sick of people telling me weekends are for getting ready for the next week. Get an effing life, people.
So, you can imagine how happy I was last night when Sue showed up with three shirts that she bought for $6.97 at the Gap. Two of them I really liked; the third was a plaid that we both agreed would have made me look like Opie Taylor. And here’s the real kicker: They originally sold for $49.00. Then they were marked down to $24.99. Then $12.99 to finally the $6.97 Sue paid.
I know what you’re thinking. They must be pretty nasty-looking shirts if no one wanted them. But no, they’re good-lookin’ fifty-dollar shirts. That’s more than you could say about a lot of hookers.
And no, I’m not giving you one off my back, either.