About six months ago, chick band plays the bar. Really good, punk rock, messy, sexy as hell. One of the girls in particular, damn. Long blond hair, gorgeous face, body…well, never mind. Hey, I’m happily married, but I can still appreciate the beauty of a woman.
She’s at the bar, wearing a really sexy top. Black, see-thru on part of the chest. There’s something really sexy about the see-through fabric. It’s almost like you’re not supposed to see it but you are. I compliment the top, she appreciates it.
Last night, the same band comes back to play. Ok, but here’s the kicker. The same sexy chick comes up to the bar…WEARING THE SAME SHIRT. I don’t know how I feel about this. I mean, I don’t care, but it feels like a Seinfeld moment. Does she have more than one shirt? Maybe she has five shirts the same? Maybe I just hit the rotation the same day? I say to her, remember me? She says, oh yeah. I say, you’re wearing the same shirt as last time! She says, yeah.
This is my shirt.