I dressed up. I put on a new shirt, dress slacks, jacket and even a tie. I needed to make a good impression.
I must hurry, or I will be late.
I arrive on time, but it’s hard to pay attention with this distraction. I wiggle and squirm, that only made it worse.
I try not to move my head, because it hurts. Mumbling and swearing I finally break away from the meeting.
I rush into the tiny rest room, and take off my favorite sleeveless sweeter. I lower my suspenders, unbutton my shirt, and pants. Then in Exasperation I rip off the shirt with only one thing in mind.
I pull out my dull pocket knife, and try to cut of the offending label. Even though I make a valiant effort, I really don’t succeed. However I do manage to shred this horrible offending thing called a label.
The label read 100% cotton, but the word cotton was sown on with stainless steel thread. I swear, as soon as I get home, this label will come off with the stitch remover I have somewhere.
This way I can remove it without losing the shirt. I kind of like the shirt.
Someday I’d like to meet that person. You know who I mean, that grinning jerk that designs those label’s
I can’t tell you what I have planned for him or her. All I can say if it’s a man he’ll have a higher voice.