|Not my actual shirt|
It's a grey shirt with no writing on it. It has black trim around the neck, sleeves, and bottom. I have, for years, operated under the impression that such shirts look good on me or, perhaps more accurately, such shirts make me look good. That much is understandable, as there's something very twentysomething about this style of shirt, and I regularly dress like I'm a twentysomething.
But I'm not. I'm going to be 38 soon.
It's hot in the Northern California in the summer time and the dress code in my office is informal. It is, more or less, wear whatever you want, because we are an internet company without the usual perks you'd find at an internet company, save for being able to wear whatever you want. Also, the guy who owns the joint likes to wear sandals to work.
In the summer, I wear t-shirts. I wear t-shirts with things on them. I have two Batman t-shirts. I have a Converse All-Stars shirt which I wear mainly because it fits me better than any other shirt I own. I have a long torso, so my curse is ill fitting shirts that prevent me from lifting my arms above my head for fear of showing off my ever growing pony keg of a stomach. I have a "Save Ferris" t-shirt that I wear for the exact same reason. Both were gifts from my brother and his wife who have, it seems, the magic touch when it comes to buying me t-shirts.
I have a Minus the Bear t-shirt. They're a band. I have two, identical dark grey t-shirts which are both too baggy for me and yet not long enough to cover the aforementioned torso. I have a green t-shirt that says "OHIO" in white. I have a black t-shirt pronouncing me a member of the "Nerd Herd."
None of these shirts are particularly adult. None of them scream "I'm mature enough to be having a child." So I turned to the grey shirt with the black trim, the shirt that makes me look cute, the shirt that perhaps pushes me to the mid-twenties, but still comes nowhere close to the late thirties.
It will no doubt be threadbare and holy by the time our child is born.