In the spring of 2013, global warming wasn't the only thing keeping me in a constant state of heat stroke. British boy band (man-band) The Wanted, I swear, was my reason to live. Nathan Sykes' dreamy vocal control and Siva Kaneswaran's glass-cutting cheekbones were my first drug of choice, no prescription needed, though, just as needing of rehab.
This shirt was a Christmas gift from my dad in a desperate attempt to keep my attention. You know, teenage angst, raging hormones, peer pressure...you do what you can to preserve those few moments of childhood glee left. Now, I'm a screamer. When I'm excited, I scream. When I'm scared, happy, angry, hungry, hangry, I scream. The inhuman noise that left my body when I unwrapped this shirt was the shot heard round the world. Dogs cowered under couches, birds headed south early, and NASA was very confused as to what had caused the sonic boom. I was fuckin' STOKED. I had a few band shirts that I had been given in my youth by family members, but this was the first that I had specifically asked for. And wearing it for the first time, I felt a strange (slightly worrisome) combination of pubescent lust and proud mom.
I had this shirt for about three months before I ruined it. It was white, can you blame me? I only did laundry to be able to wear this shirt again (and again, and again, and again.) In hindsight, it was way too tight on my new found boobs, but also, anyone distracted by my thirteen year old growth spurt had every right to * f u c k o f f : ) * . Anyway, spring brings new growth, as it always has. I was an active member of the Future Farmers of America in high school and not only loved working with livestock, but I treated the greenhouse like my damn child. This season's endeavor? Strawberries. I happened to be wearing this shirt on the day we were called on to transplant the sprouts from their studio apartment cups to their bright red, mansion size pots. Shocker there, those boys were fused to my skin. All it took...was one lean...over a table...
AND THERE WAS A HUGE, DARK BROWN SOIL STAIN THE BOTTOM OF MY BRIGHT WHITE FAVORITE SHIRT. I was going to walk down the aisle in that shirt, I swear to god. My dreams were fucking crushed. I still wore it, but only tucked into the highest waisted bottoms I could find. It gathered the stains of my teenage years and carried them like the badges of a decorated soldier. And in time...it was honorably discharged. I wore that shirt until it died. Today, it lives in a box in the top of my closet. One day, I'll take it out, wash it one last time and sew it into a blanket for my little punk to be. But for now, thank you, shirt. (And thank you, The Wanted.) For everything.
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~ The Wanted 2009-2014 ~
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