Uh, my dear, loving parents...

When you buy me a shirt, and I leave it in my dresser, and you never see me wearing it… it means I hate the shirt.

You see, Mom and Dad, you yourselves are the ones that put it in my head that I’m a conservative dresser, and you let me develop that sense of style as I grew. I do not consider ‘conservative dressers’ to wear shirts with piping that consists of tape embossed with the words “Tommy Hilfiger” over every seam.

Now, this is an honest mistake. I don’t blame you, since, as we know, my name IS Tom, and I don’t have the heart to tell you to stop calling me ‘Tommy’ because Uncle Tom wants to be the only Tom in the family. However, when I casually mention while shopping that I hate A) Logos and B) Specifically, the Tommy Hilfiger logo, that should be a sign that I do not want any Tommy Hilfiger logo shirts.

Particularly not ugly ones.

And, Mom and Dad, while I GREATLY appreciate you buying me clothes, and often you make wonderful, wonderful decisions that I thank you for profusely… if I obviously hate one of the shirts, please don’t buy me the same shirt in a different colour. That’s just silly.

Oh, and never buy me anything yellow, because, as I mention as often as I find an excuse to… I FUCKING HATE WEARING YELLOW.

Thank you in advance for your consideration.

Sell the shirt on ebay!

You know Uncle Tom?

I think it’s obvious your parents are engaging in some sort of insidious psychological warfare against you. If they bring home a 12-foot black mamba and announce “We just got you a new pet!” you might want to consider moving out.

You’re just saying that because they’re giving you a kickback.

Try this communication thing, it usually works-

“Mom, thanks for the shirt, but I’m not sure if it is the right color. Maybe I should exchange it for another…”

Damn them Uncle Toms! They make trouble for everybody!

Tommy E. Bay! I always wondered what Mr. Bay’s first name was.

I love exchanging things…I always get what I want!


But sometimes it is easier just to smile and nod and donate the crap to the Salvation Army than to tell Mom and Dad where to get off.

At one point, a few years after I left home, I took inventory and found NINE pairs of black polyester slacks I knew damn well I was never going to wear. This was in 1986.

My old man STILL wears black polyester slacks. And he doesn’t understand why everyone doesn’t.

Somewhere out there, a bum is warmly dressed in fine black polyester slacks. And he has me and my old man to thank for it…

You know, I think that guy who hangs out in front of the coffee shop WOULD look good in a yellow Tommy shirt.

Who’s Tommy Hilfiger?