Which is what I did on Monday. But here's a moment of weakness/stupidity for you. I had some very small stains on a shirt. I had bleach, so I decided to take care of them. Like a dumbass, I forgot that gravity exists and the bleach ended up oozing into one of the gray stripes of the shirt. So now, it's messed up.
Went online to order another one. Thought I had the EXACT one, until I opened up the package. The stripes were smaller. I liked the way the larger stripes looked on the original shirt, which was a Tommy Hilfiger that I got at the Franciscan Center thrift shop. Maybe someday I will find an exact replica, but I'm so mad at myself for washing out the shirt by hand, hanging it on a metal hanger, and finding rust spots on it, which infuriated me, causing me to use the bleach to try to get the spots out, then messing up the shirt.
I love that shirt. It looks awesome on me. And I go and fuck it up.
But lessons were learned. Hang wet shirts on plastic hangers. And realize gravity never gives up.
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