Hanes Beefy-T

Dear Beefy-T,

Right now I just want to sink my teeth into you. You are just that delicious. Look at how you’ve held up to all those washings, no pilling on your hardy surface, so deceptive of your sensitive, comforting body. Nothing better.

I’m writing to you when I’m all curled up in you—but these are things that I need to say to you. I want them to last forever, not turn into sweet nothings. Meaty nothings. Today you’re dark green and you say “Hollins Day of Service”, and you are from that time when I was a first year and it was orientation and I quite stupidly thought we had to get our asses out of bed at seven AM and go get on a bus and eat crappy lunches. Funny, how bad that day was, and how special. That was the day we met. I wouldn’t get up at seven AM again without you as the reward.

You’re so warm. I’m all wrapped up in you and you take care of me, all big and predatory to the outside world. You're extra heavy but still soft, so rich and soothing. It’s good to wear you. You are what happens, I guess, when fabric eats a lot of cow with the fat still on. And I like what that does. You’re so protective, Hanes Beefy Tee, and carnivorous. It’s almost primal, your handling of me. When I wear you to bed, I go with just you, nothing else, just you and your yummy, satisfying textile, which is all the meat I need tonight.

No Hindus here,
Noren