Public Service Announcement: Beware Of Supersized Shirts

So first of all, I'd like to apologize for my extended leave of absence from blogging. It wasn't my intention to take so much time off- it just kinda' happened. It's sort of like when you miss a day or two at the gym, and that "day or two" ends up turning into a month. And then you cancel your gym membership.

Well, this blogger is back, and he's out to prove that he's more than just a one trick pony that can only post wry little witticisms concerning political candidates and their (lack of) fashion sense. So here I am folks, back and badder than before.

In honor of my blogging "comeback" (not really a comeback... I've just been blogging over here), I've decided to make a confession: I have, in the not so distant past, been guilty of wearing shirts that didn't fit me so well. It wasn't due to a trend gone stale or a body gone svelte either- it just happened.

Perhaps an explanation is in order.

I'm over 6 feet tall. I'm the guy that sits in front of you at the movie theater (the theater that you didn't want to go to in the first place, because you can't figure out why they haven't gotten around to putting in stadium seating) and blocks your view. The guy that looks like he was an athlete in high school, or at the very least, a tall nerd. And at some point, I just figured that given the choice of small, medium or large, that I was a large. And in some unfortunate cases (I'm talking about you, grey, cable-knit turtleneck sweater from Brooks Brothers), extra-large. And for years, and years and years... I let this awful fashion crime continue, unabated.

I looked something like post-Britney K-Fed, save for the fact that I never wore a cape (or a large medallion with an owl on it), flapped my arms like they were wings or scowled like three year old who'd just eaten dirt. You know, that K-Fed. I miss the guy. Just a little bit.

So one morning I realized that the shirt that I was wearing was all wrong. I looked in the mirror and saw a little kid playing dress up in his father's shirt. It was baggy, the shoulder stitch was almost on my arm, and the sleeve broke well past the point of no return, practically in the middle of my palm. And it was then that it finally occurred to me: this wasn't the only shirt that fit me this way! For years, I had purchased shirts that looked like this. Oy vey!

So now that I've seen the light, I've begun buying shirts that actually fit me. I feel younger, look snazzier and people seem to like me even more than they did when I was wearing those ginormous smocks of yesteryear. Let me tell you... I look grrrrrrrreat (cue Tony The Tiger picture, pour yourself a bowl of flakes, rejoice, and get ready to read my final plea)...

Gentlemen: It's time to update your look and buy yourself a shirt that fits. I know that you're committing the same fashion crime that I was guilty of, because I see you doing it every day. It'll change the way you see yourself. More importantly, your friends and co-workers will stop asking you if you're modelling for the "after" picture for some sort of weight loss advertisement.

Ladies: Holiday shopping needn't be so difficult. Your man needs to get with the program. It's 2008, and your man's big-arse shirt is about as uncool as a pair of Z Cavariccis. Help him help himself and buy him a new shirt!

And to all of you: you can either buy these shirts online at DearJac.com, or you can come in and get them at the store (where you can ask Jaci in person just how dreadful some of my old shirts were!).