Undercover

I never in my life had possessed undershirts. Now, this is the sort of really mundane thing that I find rather interesting but can easily imagine that I am alone on. Maybe I'm not, but I sure wouldn't bet on it. In any case, I never had one, but suddenly found the other day that I needed one. I was to appear in a friend's short film, and you commonly provide much or all of your wardrobe. I was supposed to supply my own undershirt.

I left it not to the eleventh hour, but at least to the tenth. The day before the shoot, I went off to the nearest dollar store. I knew they carried undershirts, and I figured that there couldn't be much difference between a high-end undershirt and a cut-rate one. Perhaps there is no high-end one. I found them to be priced 6.99 for three, and I snapped up a package of small's. I figured that was a safe pick for my frame.

There's a certain romantic picture I have of a man wearing just an undershirt. It's a sort of Stanley Kowalski type. This really ties into the spaghetti thing I was writing about the other day. I just imagine a weary guy with no pretenses there in the undershirt eating the spaghetti. I'm really not the guy who fills out the undershirt the way Brando would, but it's the way I feel while wearing the shirt, and maybe that comes across.

I don't know about wearing them all the time, although it's not uncomfortable. I guess it creates a more flattering look, or something. It's a complication. I'm just getting to where I have nice shirts and not even where I have pants and a lot of accessories. It hardly seems like the time to start investing further in shirts when I haven't got five pairs of well-fitting pants. Still, these three undershirts are nice to have. No one can ever say I never had them.