Please, I beg you, seek not an explanation...


The Secret Life of Cotton

If you think life is hard, try photosynthesis. For that matter, pollination is no joke either. Certainly, human life can be a tumble in a high-speed grinder, but one should never complain until you've been tossed into a gin.

You may not be aware of the various processes that bring cotton from the fields but the final product has clearly been on your mind. Please do not feign coyness to my meaning. I've seen the salivations.

I am referring to the black t-shirt. Specifically, I am referring to myself. Yes, you are being addressed by a member of the cotton collective; a single shirt amongst the overstuffed drawer of brethren. You have passed my kin in bins and racks, nary a thought going to what makes us special. But when put on the right body, we certainly manage to catch your interest. And hold it to the point of whiplash. In my position, I see the reactions. For I am on that right body right now.

I used to believe your stares were in appreciation of my natural abilities; to stretch, to form-fit, to mold to my wearer. After a few outings I have learned it is the one I surround that you crave. Funny, I'm meant to cover nakedness and yet in my task, I reveal far more to the eye than intended. You seem to envision all that lies beneath. I think perhaps I've failed.

But your smile, hidden in shyness, is my pride. He chooses me or ones like myself, in some awareness of your interest. Think not that he is solely focused on comfort. Why, surely you know white is the most appropriate for heat. Yet on this summer day, he dons me and faces the sun without concern. Apparently your double-takes are worth it. But I digress.

Now, it must be said that I can appreciate the subtleties of the form beneath my molecules. Certainly the object of your gazes is impressive by human male standards. However, it pains me to be the last consideration in your appraisal. After all, is it not my dutiful performance that showcases the musculature? Is it not my flexibility that highlights his movements? I am not a vain mass of fibers. I seek neither worship nor ceremony for engaging in that for which I was created. No, women, I only wish for credit for a job well done.

My needs are few; gentle soap, a tumble dry and a crisp fold. But when I'm gallivanting in public, I would appreciate prolonged scrutiny for the right reasons. At least occasionally. Please comment on my thread count. Kindly note my seamless stitching. You may even go so far as caress my sleeves. By all means notice me, but save not your attention for only the one beneath.

I may be cotton, but I have feelings.

And if you think we have a story or two to tell, you should talk to the pants!


Oh, come on! You know you've stared and drooled! Admit it!