White t-shirts get multiple lives around here. They begin as daily garments for my husband while they are still fresh and white. He wears them to work, but every now and then, one gets to venture outside while he does yardwork. While I’m sure the tee enjoys its time in the sun, it has unknowingly begun to inch closer to the rag pile.
I do my best to keep the white tees pearly, but Oxi-Clean and Tide only get me so far. After a few turns behind the lawn mower, that poor tee hangs on to deodorant and invites stains to stay. My husband shakes his head and pulls the hardworking tee out of the drawer and says, “I think this one is done.” I nod, gently take the shirt, and place it on the dryer with the rest of the retired apparel.
One fateful day, the fabric scissors are pulled from my sewing box and I sit down with the tees who are no longer in service.
The once-white tees are now shades of beige, cream, and ecru. I sit to begin the ceremonial cutting of the shirts. And then I get back up about ten times, because of the pint-sized people. But finally, that pile of fabric gets transformed into neatly folded cleaning rags. Their lives as garments may be over, but their careers as cleaning supplies has just begun!
And that, folks, is the tale of the white tees. Brought to you by a little boy who will only continue his nap on his mommy, pinning her to the rocking chair.