Maybe If I Could Bedazzle Them?

I discovered something very important about myself today.

After a classic battle of Lorraine vs. herself that has lasted many years and caused many sleepless nights, I finally conceded.

I, Lorraine, third (and favourite) child of Doug and Sandra, lover of all things that are Heinz ketchup, in sound mind and body, declare in a LOUD BOOMING VOICE, AS INDICATED BY THESE CAPITAL LETTERS, THAT................

*dramatic pause*

I totally don't like plain t-shirts.

I KNOW, I KNOW! How can she not like plain t-shirts? What is there not to like? I swear, I TRIED to like them! Oh how I did try. You don't know how many times I stood in a change room after worming my way into a cost effective, comfortable plain t-shirt and convinced my reflection:

a) that it actually looked really good on her

b) to accept that not every shirt requires a design or unique characteristic to look good

c) that the plainness of the t-shirt is, in effect, its very own fashion.

Regretfully, these successful self-convincing arguments triggered countless plain t-shirt casualties. Perfectly acceptable plain t-shirts were purchased and promptly demoted to pajama shirt status. Yes, these plain t-shirts were not even granted the dignity to be worn in public. That is, until they were packed up in the semi-annual closet purge and donated to charity, where hopefully someone who was a little more appreciative of plain t-shirts gave them a loving, accepting home. A home where their self-esteems could flourish, away from the constant degradation they had become accustomed to in my residence; where they could feel the sweet exhilaration of being chosen above all other shirts, and not just worn on laundry day; where they could maintain their fresh laundry scent until the next time they were worn instead of gradually absorbing the wooden odor of the chest of drawers during their six month hibernation period.

As soon as I built up the courage to admit to myself that I don't like them, I felt a wave of freedom wash over me. The shackles were broken. My eyes were opened. Somewhere in the distance, the hallelujah chorus started playing. I don't like plain t-shirts, and THAT'S OKAY. I don't have to be ashamed. It was like I was trying so hard to be someone I'm not - someone who likes plain t-shirts.

Now, let me be clear; I don't want to be labeled as an anti-plain-t-shirter. I am all for plain t-shirts. They are versatile, comfortable, and look great on many, many people - most annoyingly, those girls who could make even a burlap sac look fashionable. (I hate those girls.) However, I need some character to my t-shirts. Some pizzaz. You know why? Because I am FULL of pizzaz. Maybe even some flair, depending on the day. And if my clothes can't reflect who I am, then really...why even bother wearing them in the first place?