This isn’t a new take on the saying “crying over spilled milk” or anything, although I must admit they both mean the same thing which basically goes something like: “Suck it up and cry over something that is actually worth crying over, you cry baby.”
But yes, I literally did cry over a stained shirt.
I am not ashamed.
It was my favorite shirt.
You must first understand though that I don’t usually cry over the destruction (because, really, that’s what an irremovable stain on a favorite shirt is) of my favorite things, with the exception of books because books are awesome and, according to Stephen King, are a uniquely portable magic and who doesn’t cry over losing one’s uniquely portable magic?
Granted, my favorite shirt couldn’t possibly be considered a uniquely portable magic, but these past few weeks have been either really good or really bad for me. My thesis is due in a week so I’m going on an academic overdrive but it’s hard to do things properly when you’re coughing so much that your stomach and head start to hurt.
Of course, I’m thankful it wasn’t all really bad but I’ve gotta say it’s kind of messing with my emotions, to the point where, upon seeing my favorite shirt stained, I locked myself in the bathroom and cried and cried. And cried.
It wasn’t one of my finest moments to be sure. But, you know, we all need a good cry every now and then… even if it’s because of something really petty.