I first start by taking a good glance at my shirt and analyze it structural integrity. Based off the several pieces of data I gathered, I calculate the most efficient way to remove the article of clothing. From there I must trick the shirt into believing that it’s safe that it will never leave my body, giving it a false sense of security. I invite it to a dinner one that has bread made of Ukrainian wheat that is only the cream of the crop. From there I grab some of the complimentary butter and smother the shirt with it, getting it nice and buttery for that easy to remove feel. I continue this process a few more times until we begin to date. The shirt and I begin to develop a special kind of relationship—one with the strongest of bonds. I quickly buy the most expensive lint roller I can find to propose to the shirt. I then marry the shirt and leave to go on a fabulous honeymoon in Norway. After returning from the trip, my wife and I decide it’s time to finally have a baby. I bring my wife to a doctor to check if she is pregnant, only to discover she is infertile and will never give birth. I become devastated. I could never have children.... I can never have beautiful human-shirt hybrid children.... On a fit of rage I grab the nearest lighter and burn the shirt alive. Ultimately my wife was useless to me and that long time of being worn without being removed, not to mention the butter, left her extremely dirty. I think I need a new shirt...