Listen, I don’t need another T-shirt that says “World’s Okayest Human.” I have enough laundry to qualify as a small clothing brand already. Every time someone gives me a custom-printed shirt, it’s like they’re saying, “Here’s something you’ll never wear outside, but now you can’t throw it away because it’s personalized.” My drawers are filled with shirts declaring I survived events I don’t even remember attending. One even says “Johnson Family Reunion 2017.” I don’t know any Johnsons.
What’s worse is that people always act like they’ve given me a priceless heirloom. “Look! It has your face on it!” Yeah, thanks, Brenda, now I can finally achieve my dream of being a walking mugshot. From now on, please—if you must give me a gift, make it edible, usable, or refundable. But for the love of cotton blends, do not give me a custom printed T-shirt.
