You know that one piece of clothing that you love?  It is oh-so comfy and comforting and fits perfectly; it is the most often worn shirt or pair of jeans or hoodie or whatever.  Well.  You know that one piece of clothing that your husband loves?  It is just the opposite.  Might I say it’s cringe-worthy; it is the source of conversations like “Babe, pleeeease don’t wear that in public.”  Poor man.  I guess it’s all a matter of perspective.  But really…

…it was a t-shirt he got in Iraq that he cut the arms out for one of those going-to-the-gym muscle shirt things.

…it had so many holes in it that it literally looked like it had been shot with a shotgun and then laundered so those hole grew.

…it was so thin that you could spit through it.

…and he loved to wear it – to the gym, running errands, wherever he happened to be.

I was counting down the days to its demise.

We came home from the gym yesterday, and behind me, I heard a ripping sound.  I spun around, not knowing what had happened.  And there he was with the despised shirt in his hands, torn (on purpose).  I didn’t think; I just went spastic.  Suddenly I became a uncontrollable laughing, dancing, jumping, arms waving in the air maniac.

Yes, I was happy.  Yes, it was a blessing worthy of a blog post.