A Letter of Farewell to My Dairy Queen T-Shirt

Dear Dairy Queen T-Shirt,

You and I have been through a lot together. Ever since that day I first saw you hanging on a thrift store rack in Dayton, Ohio, I knew that we were meant for each other.

You were simple, and elegant, with just enough of that "thrift store feel" to make your corporate logo ironic. And oh, what a logo it is... The sensuous curve of your lip-like outer design... Giant block print "Dairy Queen" just like on all the classic signs... The hypnotic glow that your faded whore-nail-polish red hue gave... I wore you as often as possible, in college, in law school, and even now that I'm an attorney, I'd throw you into heavy rotation in my free time T lineup. You were and still are magical.

It is precisely because of our history (remember that time we played a flag football scrimmage outside of the law school and people kept yelling "cover Dairy Queen"?), that it is so hard for me to say goodbye. I know what you're thinking, Dairy Queen, I know... shhhhh..... shhhh... It's not that I don't love you anymore. It's not even that I'm angry at your corporate affiliation (you and I both know that I love me some Heath Blizzard (tm)... except when they put the chocolate sauce in it... I don't know why they mess up such a good thing like that). No, sweet Dairy Queen, it's not you... it's my neighborhood.

You see, Dairy Queen, I've moved now... moved on to a new neighborhood in a new place, and that neighborhood might just take you the wrong way. Oh, not Chinatown... I'm sure you'd be fine in Chinatown and I know I'm on the border... It's the other area. The Logan Circle, Dupont area. I'm not sure if you're aware Dairy Queen, but Dupont Circle traditionally and Logan Circle more recently is the vibrant hub of the Washington D.C. homosexual community. It's a wonderful, fun place with a lot of things to do... it's just that, from the nights you've spent on my (or other people's) floors you know I'm not gay (in fact, I had to jealously guard you from some of my lady friends, who believed that they should have access to you).

I hope you understand, Dairy Queen, that I can no longer, as I did today, wander around this neighborhood oblivious to the smiles from well groomed men in festive shirts. I began to realize something was wrong from all the staring I received in the Whole Foods and couldn't quite put my finger on it at first... I thought perhaps my fly was undone or I had made some giant fashion faux pas, but, no... I am sure now that the smiles and knowing nods were directed my way because of you.

It's not that I dislike these men, you understand... I respect them and the decisions they've made and the genes with which they were born. It's just that I'm not a tease and, whereas back home in the Midwest you were ironic, here you suggest that I'd like to do something involving milk products and male genitalia... I cannot lead these men on this way. I know how pissed you'd be if you saw a hot chick in a "Dick's Sporting Goods" T-Shirt and she turned out to be interested in neither Richard or his sports. I hope you see my point.

So, Dairy Queen, this is it... Goodbye... I will wear you the rest of the day and then, ceremoniously, will wash you and fold you and place you on a shelf for a happier time... A time at which I no longer taunt men with my rippling biceps caressing your sleeves...

Love always,
Staffman