House Clothes

"How do you feel when you return home at the end of the day?" Today's NaBloPoMo prompt.

Happy. I feel happy when I return home at the end of the day. I usually have a to-do list of things I'd like to make happen but I don't let it taunt me.  I feel relaxed. I go all Mr. Rogers and change into my house clothes. This is usually the true sign of being home, the clothes. There are two versions. Work out clothes, including the best sports bra ever (thank you, Title Nine!) or if the work out isn't happening, then comfy pants and a t-shirt. My t-shirt collection has grown vast in the last few years, so much so that it has taken up one entire drawer of my dresser.


These are t-shirts I never wear out in public. These are house clothes truly, or work out clothes, but never "plan to see people and look pretty clothes." I have some weird block about wearing t-shirts with writing or photos on them out in public. It's odd. I think they look adorable on other people, but I always feel too casual, sloppy and conspicuous. It could be the boobs. My rack is substantial and does not benefit from having things written across it. Maybe I think it draws the eye too much, and I don't need help with that. But inside, at home at night, t-shirts reign supreme. So here is a quick run down of my favorites:

• a black and white Blues Brothers/House of Blues t-shirt purchased on a road trip to New Orleans with Kristen in 1998. Jake and Elwood are starting to fade and this one is on the chopping block soon. But Jake and Elwood make me think of that trip, buying fuzzy dice, our car break down, sweaty Bourbon Street walk with old men hitting on us, drinking Hurricanes and visiting the Voodoo Museum. 
• a black Henry Rollins Manic on a Mission spoken word tour t-shirt that my dad bought for all of us when we saw him at Liberty Hall in 2003. Does your dad like Hank? Oh, yeah, mine does. He's so cool.
• an Amnesty International flame t-shirt from my volunteer days in college, it is very old and very soft and very big and an ugly color of teal but I bought it on a road trip to St. Louis in 1997 at an Amnesty International conference where I drove a car load of strangers in my little Camry and we slept overnight in an Amish meeting house and ate Ethiopian food, odd weekend, excellent t-shirt.
• two black Big Lebowski t-shirts, one "I can get you a toe." and one "Do you see what happens, Larry?"
• I don't know which is my favorite. Probably the toe, because it elicits the most strange looks on dog walks.
• a smattering of the best shirt woot t-shirts one can find, usually based on music, reading, cupcakes or more reading. I wouldn't want to say that my t-shirt collection describes who I am as a person, but sometimes it's shockingly close. If you are unfamiliar with shirt woot I want you to stop reading and go find yourself a shirt. Right now. There is one for everyone. Might I suggest this one? 

• a three quarter sleeve white and black and hot pink Ramones t-shirt I got for $2 with Joe and Jon shopping in the Old Market in Omaha.
• a bright green retro looking The National t-shirt that Joe surprised me with at their concert in April. I slept in it last night and it always ensures the trippiest, most music filled dreams. And it has a palm tree on it.  

I fear I may never be able to get rid of some of these shirts. A few are looking raggedy. A few are fading from black to grey, but I can't get rid of them. I'm sure Joe finds them particularly alluring, sorry dear. And I suppose any fashion expert or What Not to Wear diva would tell me to buy cuter clothes to wear at home and keep my husband fired up. But I like my t-shirts. I don't want to get rid of them and run around the house in lacy underthings. I want comedy and memories and irony on my clothes at night. So they may have to be turned into some kind of sarcastic hipster reading quilt when it's time to retire them and the drawer gets too full. Oh, now I'm kind of liking that idea.