They always get it right.
They be my dad and stepmom.
They too are travelers. And they know of my black T-shirt collection.
My black T-shirt collection, on which I have blogged. My black T-shirt collection built over the decades. A selective group of 16 shirts – Each with a Story – that will be with me until the end. And outlive me. See, once you’re in, you’re in for life.
A misguided conception is that being black is sufficient to gain entry into this esteemed group.
Oh how foolish be he who so perceives!
Entry into the esteemed pool is determined by qualities tangible and intangible that I’d dare not attempt to articulate. It is sufficient that the Great Spirit of Black T-Shirts and I know.
And, evidently, my stepmom and dad.
Who get it right every single time. No easy feat, that. And an indicator that they really get me and my style.
For example. On exceptionally rare occasion – and frankly, I’d have it no other way – they return from overseas with a gift of a black T-shirt.
Through many years, they’ve gifted me with four, each of which made it into the group. I share that to highlight their skill, the exceptional state of the collection and the tortoise-like pace at which it grows.
In other words, they’re not returning from their every jaunt with another shirt landing in my lap!
That’s not how it’s done. That would be wrong.
So. A few weeks ago, on the occasion of my birthday, the newest member arrived. Soon as the shirt was out of its wrapping and presented before me hanging in midair between the fingers, I knew. It was a shoe-in. Uh, a shirt-in?
Behold. Now I ask you, can you state from where the shirt, with its uniquely cool reflective silvery swirls, hails? (Answer to be revealed after all votes are in.)