Inside the box were THIRTY T-SHIRTS WITH MY FACE ON THEM. And my name. And this web address. The photo of me, which can also be seen here, was taken in 1983, the year after I got glasses and braces.
I knew that the barrettes I wore, the ones I decorated with long multicolored ribbons, were beautiful. I knew I looked good. I did not know that my face just barely got away with having my gigantic mouth plunked on the front of it and, at the time, I didn't understand why my friend's little brother asked me if my lips were on steroids.
Let's just say that the Dawn Weiner character from Welcome to the Dollhouse makes me more than a little uncomfortable.
I pawed through the box, seeing the reproduction of that happy, oblivious smile plastered on more t-shirts more times than I ever thought I would, which is to say more than zero times, but there was no note.
"WHAT? THE? FUCK?" I said, pacing, "WHATTHEFUCK!"
I looked at the return address again (Seattle) and made a phone call.
"Hi. Carl? Are you answering your phone by laughing uncontrollably because you sent me a box of t-shirts of my face?" Carl could have just said yes at this point but he was too busy convulsing.
He thought it would be funny if, when I visited Seattle, people were wearing this shirt. Specifically, if everyone in his bar had this shirt on when I walked in. But he got tired of this idea and decided to instead send me all the shirts anonymously. And you know what? That's more disturbing than than the bar prank would have been. Now it's up to me to inflict this face on the world. Which I should be good at by now.
Please meet Mark, who won a "door prize" at Jane's Tupac birthday party last weekend. Doesn't Mark look thrilled?
What about now? So pleased!
And please do not fail to notice the SUV / brass knuckle design of the shirt I'm wearing. I'd like to thank Brownsville, Brooklyn for having a store that sells this and Cathy for actually buying it.
And last but absolutely not least: Carl, thank you.
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