FORTY WHOPPING FIVE DOLLARS

So way back in my old life in Chicago, I was working out with a top-tier (read: exponentially most expensive) trainer at a mega-trendy (read: exponentially most expensive) gym in the Loop (read: a few blocks from my office, which is why I was coughing up exponentially so much money). I met with my trainer at 6:30 am three days a week and worked out on my own at the same time two days a week, which meant I maintained a rigorous schedule of planning ahead, meal prep, gym-bag clothes packing and disciplined sleep every weekday. Plus I kept emergency backup food in my freezer and emergency backup clothes in my gym bag. Just in case.

But.

Despite all my extremely conscientious, extremely disciplined, extremely successful planning and packing over the course of four-plus years, there was one sweaty morning I unpacked my bag at the gym and discovered to my horror that I hadn’t packed any work clothes. Not. A. Stitch. And it was 7:30 am on a weekday in the Loop, which meant there were absolutely no places open to buy clothes anywhere for the next few hours.

But.

My mega-trendy gym DID have a mega-trendy (read: exponentially most expensive) little (read: tiny, shitty selection of merchandise) boutique in its lobby, which also wasn’t going to be open for the next few hours. But the woman at the nearby check-in desk heard my tale of woe and took pity on me and found a key to open up the mega-trendy (read: exponentially most expensive) boutique so I could find something reasonably priced (read: HAHAHA!) that I could buy and wear to work.

The bad news: There was nothing in the entire boutique that said “white-collar desk job.”

The good news: My white-collar desk job had a pretty flexible, non-collar-of-any-color-obligating dress code when we weren’t meeting with clients.

The bad news: There was nothing in the entire boutique that said “less than a mortgage payment.”

The good news: My gym shorts weren’t TOO sweaty and I did have emergency backup clean underwear and I figured could probably get away with spending one day at work dressed like I’d just run a marathon.

Long story short: This T-shirt cost me FORTY WHOPPING FIVE DOLLARS. And while it got me through a mega-casual workday, it actually fits like a cheap-ass five-dollar shirt to this day and I should just get rid of it but IT COST ME FORTY WHOPPING FIVE DOLLARS.

So I feel like I still have to keep it in my shirt rotation. Because FORTY WHOPPING FIVE DOLLARS.