The Shirt

Short Story Day 46 of 365

Barry couldn’t remember the last time he had purchased a t-shirt quite like Maroon. Now, more than 14 years old, Maroon had holes almost as large as the neck and arm holes.

But it was soft and comfortable.

“Babe, you seen Maroon lately?”

Barry’s wife laughed. “If Maroon is that raggedy old t-shirt you keep wearing, I tossed it out last night and it’s probably in the city dump by now. Garbage truck hauled it away this morning bright and early. It was a nice sound to hear.”

“What? You threw Maroon away? Without telling me?”

“Barry, this Maroon you speak of walked out the door last night by itself. I just aided it by opening the trash can and closing it when Maroon jumped in.”

“But Maroon wouldn’t do that to me.”

“Well, Maroon did do that, but I made up for it,” she said. “Here, catch.”

She tossed him a plastic package.

Inside the package was another maroon shirt along with a navy blue and fire engine red t-shirt, all the same brand and material as Maroon.

“It won’t be the same,” Barry said, looking up at his wife.

It had been several years since his wife had shot Barry the Look, but he remembered it clearly. The Look could launch ships, stop criminals in their tracks, and cause the strongest of men to babble like children.

“And I’m sure it won’t take long to break these in to my liking,” Barry said.

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