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Do They Make A T-Shirt For Days Like This?

Posted by on October 12, 2011

Ever since giving birth the second time around in May, all I seem to ever wear are t-shirts; simple, boring white t-shirts that hide spit up, leakage and whatever else my kids seem to cover me with.  Usually, I could care less, but on days when I find myself surrounded by people that had more than 4 minutes to get dressed, it starts to bug me.   Yesterday, while I was playing with my boys at the park, wearing my traditional white t-shirt and yoga pants, I found myself gawking at this mom dressed in a gorgeous dress, with platform wedges that had to be at least 6 inches high.  My internal monologue was “whomp, whomp, whomp.” I found myself feeling like I needed to explain the reason for my lack of creativity and finesse in my appearance.  Then I thought, if only my white t-shirts could explain, they would be able to say…


Monday T:  “It’s Laundry Day?  Maybe.”

On Mondays, I look like I am a little hungover, which of course I am not.  But I do have a newborn which sometimes makes me look like I am really, really, really hungover.   In fact, maybe Monday’s shirt should read like this:

“At Least I’m Not Drunk.”

Tuesday T:  “I’m Going to the Gym…Someday”

I feel like I have a little bit more strength on Tuesdays, predominantly because it is no longer Monday.  I even think I might go on that long walk, spend that extra time on the elliptical or do some yoga.  I even get to shower in the morning because the Mush Man is back on his regularly weekly routine.   Hmm.  Maybe Tuesday’s shirt should read:

“At Least My Pits Are Clean”

Wednesday T:  “Yes.  This is My Husband’s Shirt.”

Usually the laundry that I have folded has still yet to make its way up the stairs and into my drawers.  So I ultimately end up stealing something from my husband’s drawer.  Remember when you first started dating a guy, and it was kind of sexy to wear his clothes?  But then when he becomes your husband, it becomes decidedly less sexy.  That’s not fair.  Perhaps, Wednesday could read:

“This Shirt Belongs to the Guy I Have Sex With”

Thursday T:  “Once Upon a Time, I Looked Really, Really Hot All the Time.”

On Thursdays ,I start to get pissed at myself for wearing t-shirts all week long.  I start reminiscing about all of the cute little outfits I use to wear; the ones without spit up stains and elastic.  I even start to miss the occasional “cat calls” I would get; the ones I use to hate…because they came from really ugly men.  This pity party becomes aggravated when I see a woman dressed to the nines at my son’s school during pick up time.  We are picking up children, not men!  You know, Thursday’s should really say:

“Once Upon a Time, Your Husband Hit on Me…And I Turned Him Down!  You’re Welcome.”

Friday T:  “It’s Friday.  I Get A Free Pass.”

I love Fridays.  Who doesn’t?  I am excited for my husband to come through my front door and be my slave for the weekend….um, I mean spend time with me. On Fridays, I don’t care what I look like.  Until, I see pretty girls all dressed up, getting ready to go out on dates or to bars etc.  And sadly, sometimes my pity part of one starts to return.  I think Friday’s shirt would be a much better pick me up if it said:

“My Dinner is Paid For & I Don’t Have to Put Out.”

Saturday T:  “Look I Finally Got My Sh*t Together!”

On Saturday, I have time to do my hair and my makeup…at the same time…without interruption! I can take a shower without being on a timer!  Life is fabulous on Saturday!  I feel good going out places and knowing that the only way you can tell I have kids is by seeing them with me, and not by seeing any of their bodily fluids on me!  Saturdays make me feel all kinds of good.  Good like Saturday’s could say:


Sunday T:  “I Wore Real Clothes Yesterday, OK”

Sundays make me tired.  Usually because I like to stay up late Saturday night because my husband and I take turns sleeping in.  After sleeping in, the reality of not doing any chores starts to set in, and I start to go into crazy cleaning lady mode.  Hair does not get done on this day.  Neither does makeup.  The sexy lady who occupied my body yesterday has been replaced with no nonsense, get this house picked up lady.  You got to love that lady.  Side note: As, I read this aloud my husband informed me that this lady sucks.  So maybe Sunday’s should read:

“Whatever, I Got to Sleep in This Morning & I have kids!”


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