Signs, Detergent, & a Not-So-Subtle Metaphor

I have this shirt.



My mom thinks it might be trying to *tell* me something.

Yep. You heard that right. My mother thinks my shirt is a sign.

Or rather, my behavior every time I wear my shirt is a sign.

It’s not.

But I will tell you about it anyway.

I was wearing said shirt a couple of months ago even though at that point I still had no idea if I was going to ASU or U of A in the fall. I put the shirt on and said offhand, “I will alternate between wearing my U of A and ASU shirts and whichever one I feel better in will be the school I go to.”

You following?

It was dumb logic, obviously, but it was also a joke.

About two minutes later I *somehow* managed to spill chocolate all over my ASU shirt. My mom said it was a sign.

I threw it in the washer.

I wore it again not too long after that and once again mysteriously got chocolate on the shirt.

My mom laughed. And said it was a sign.

I threw it in the washer.

Every time I wear my ASU shirt I spill on it. Every single time. Including today.

And every single time my mom happens to be standing close by.

She always thinks it is a sign.

It should be noted however, that I spilled on my U of A shirt last time I wore it.

My mom remarked that maybe I am not meant to attend school at all.

I tend to think it is a sign I should not be allowed to handle food anymore.

But that’s beside the point.

The point is this.

My ASU shirt always comes clean. Always.

I am inclined to think this might be an even more important sign.

I might totally screw things up, over and over again, but it will always turn out okay. I will get another chance. This decision is not the be-all end-all of my life.

Either that, or we have really good detergent.