duck-shaped pain

My blue shirt and I have only been together a few weeks, but we've become inseparable. I've worn it almost every single day since I got it. I've given it a few days off, in the interest of cleanliness, but when I'm not wearing the blue shirt, I still think about how much I'd like to be wearing the blue shirt.

Right now, blue shirt is in the dryer. I am waiting for it.

Blue shirt came from the Salvation Army, home of many great shirts. I wasn't planning on buying a shirt on that particular day, but there it was. I couldn't turn it down once I tried it on. Blue shirt completely took over after that. I bought a purple shirt that day, too, but it remains unworn. Nothing else feels quite right after a few times with blue shirt. When I'm wearing it, all my other clothes seem unnecessary. I think, hey, I could get rid of most of these. But I could never part with blue shirt.

It's an odd color of blue for a dress shirt, I guess. It's not denim blue or chambray. It's not light blue, or dark blue. It's sort of deep blue -- several shades darker than your standard oxford blue shirt. It has lots of tiny, tiny white threads mixed in that give the blue depth.

I've had other shirts like blue shirt. There's been a distinct line of great shirts running through my life, from when I was about 14 to now. Even so, there have been more times without a great shirt than with, and that's unfortunate.

All the great shirts I can remember have several things in common:

• They've all been men's dress shirts

• They've all come from the thrift store

• They've all been worn until they fell apart

Blue shirt has yet to fall apart, of course. I think I met blue shirt in an earlier stage in its life than other great shirts I've had. I have no idea why blue shirt was given away -- it's like new. Nothing wrong with it, as far as I can tell. No holes, no stains, nothing. If I was an optimist, I would guess that he was given away because someone lost weight. The cynic in me thinks that blue shirt fell victim to the whims of fashion. Part of me secretly thinks that blue shirt's previous owner decided to become a woman and gave away all his shirts. Whatever the reason, the shirt is mine now, and I thank whoever decided to part with blue shirt.

The thing all these great shirts have in common is that when I wear them, I think, hey, this is exactly what I want to feel like when I wear clothes. I feel extremely comfortable and at ease when I'm wearing my blue shirt. Blue shirt seems to tap into some idealized version I have of what I want to look and feel like, and very few clothes I have do that. I never have to look in the mirror when I have blue shirt on. It goes with everything.

The first great shirt I ever owned as a blue- and white-striped oxford shirt I found at the Goodwill in my hometown. I found it during my sophomore year in high school, and it became my uniform for that whole entire year. Blue- and white-striped shirt was on its last legs when I found it, and, by the end of the year, it was completely gone. I never found another blue- and white-striped shirt quite like it, but you know that I tried. It was from Lands' End, and even seemingly identical ones that I ordered from them weren't the same shirt.

Blue- and white-striped shirt had its ideal companions, of course. Most of the time, I wore it with a pair of black shorts and some black penny loafers (which I put dimes in instead of pennies, thinking I was waay original).

The second great shirt I had I found a couple of years after I moved to Denver, and it was plain white. It had a spread collar, and a monogram on the pocket (also white, so it was barely noticeable) that read HH. The shirt originally came from Homer Reed, Ltd., a much-too-expensive men's store in Denver. I, however, found it at the ARC Value Village on South Broadway. This was a very, very nice shirt -- HH had good taste. It was so soft and worn out by the time I got my hands on it, that you knew it wasn't long for this earth. Nevertheless, I enjoyed every minute I had with it. White shirt finally bit the dust one night when I was at the studio of this guy I knew named Alex. I was sitting on his windowsill, and white shirt got snagged on a nail stuck in said windowsill. When I got up...that was the end. I tried to repair it, but it was all in vain.

I tried many white shirts after that, but none were the same. Some fit similarly, some didn't. Some looked the same (I specifically tried to find monogrammed shirts for awhile after white shirt's demise), but once I brought them home, I never wore them. I was ruthless, hostile to any shirt that didn't match up. Finally, I decided I didn't really need a white shirt in my life.

There were a couple of years between white shirt and the current blue shirt. Many things happened in my life, without a specified shirt to go with them. There were a few garments which nearly met the level of these great shirts: white linen shirt, black band t-shirt, plaid shirt. But they just didn't feel right. They didn't put me at ease like a great shirt would.