You were the perfect price on that clearance rack. You were just the right shade of green. You were the right tunic length with the cute three-quarter sleeves, and the tiny buttons up the front that just set you off so nicely.
Then, there was the delicate little draw-string belt. So thin. So discreet. So very current. You know, I had a moment when I bought you when I thought, "Hm. I sure hope that this is at the right spot that accents the fact that I do, actually, have a waist, rather than making me look pregnant."
But, no. How could you, perfect little light-weight spring shirt that would look so cute with my black capris, ever do anything so vile as make me look pregnant when I'm not (really, really not).
However, today, just now, the door bell rang, with me being held in your embrace, and there stood my neighbour with a few questions and a bit of small talk. We laughed, we discussed, and we decided. All the while, there was a look. A downward, glancing look. A suspiciously questioning look. An unspoken wondering look.
You, my dear shirt, are outta here. You need to know that the next time that the charity clothing people have a pickup in our area, and you hear the doorbell ring, I assure you, you will not need to ask for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee.