45 T-Shirts. 1 Torso

We're moving in four days. Well, kind of. Most of our furniture will get moved next week, but we'll go and camp out in the new house and enjoy its new-to-us-housiness after we close on Friday. We'll live out of a suitcase for the first few days after the closing as we scrub the house from top to bottom and lament the fact that we didn't think to move something like the pots and pans and that we live too far in the blissful boonies for a pizza to be delivered.

Today I packed the coat closet and the board game shelf. Yesterday we packed up the tool bench, and the variety of crap in our laundry/work room. I am working on clothes right now, and am trying to reduce the weight of our shared armoire--one entire shelf of which houses Todd's collection of 45 T-shirts. I left a half dozen of his favorites on the shelf so he could wear them this week, and tossed 40 some odd T-shirts into a suitcase.

The man owns 45 T-shirts. 45 of them. He only has 1 torso on which to wear these 45 T-shirts. To be fair, I have no idea how many pairs of shoes I own, and I only have two feet on which to wear them. But that's different! I need all those shoes.

If I were a different kind of wife, I would have performed a T-shirtectomy just now--a complicated maneuver involving a large garbage bag and enabling gravity to ease the T-shirts into said garbage bag. But alas, I am a cool wife who doesn't go around throwing out her husband's stuff, and I expect the same in return.

But if we sewed all those T-shirts together we could probably make a sail for the boat.