I hesitated posting this photo of me from the 80s. I had some concerns that you would feel inadequate in the presence of male beauty at this level. Don’t worry, dudes. I’ll post a list of my personal care tips later.
Ladies, please resist the urge to lick your screen.
But check out that t-shirt. Hawt! This was back in the days of iron-on transfer t-shirt shops. Remember those?
Jenni and I grew up in Phoenix and spent a lot of time at Metrocenter mall. I used to drag my parents to this t-shirt shop in “The Alley” where they made t-shirts to order while you waited. I love the smell of heated plastic in the morning. Smells like victory.
I’m still drooling over this memory.
They had rows and rows of record-like racks where you sifted through designs. When you found one you wanted, you’d take it to the counter, choose a t-shirt color, and they pressed it for you right there. Simple concept, magical to a geek like me.
I think this Elvis shirt was likely one of the more “normal” designs I chose. During one very special visit I picked out my design and handed it to my mom, who got an unmistakably uncomfortable look on her face. “Are you sure you want this one? Do you even know what it means?”
I assured her that yes, I knew what I wanted. By some miracle, she eventually steered me towards something else (the alternative would have been to scream “FIRE!” and run us all out of there). The shirt I originally chose read:
BLONDES HAVE MORE FUN
I stand behind my choice to this day. These days, I could make that shirt for myself anytime I want. Hmm. I smell an experiment coming on.
I still think that kind of t-shirt shop needs to resurface. Heck, maybe we’ll open it up. And I’ll be watching out for the weird kid with the questionable taste in design. I’ll hand him an application.