A formal complaint about shirts.

It was a beautiful day yesterday and after dealing with my arduous morning duties I climbed the stairs to my study, sat my pert bottom upon my old oak chair and for a brief moment contemplated the quiet house, the peaceful solitude. I planned to indulge myself in some creative writing, perhaps a few emails and maybe even a little surfing on the internet for any new wondrous diet pills that might be available for small, pert bottomed ladies.

Slowly, deliciously, I lifted the lid of my laptop...

And there it was.

A handwritten note.

It was clearly recognisable as the Good Mr T's handwriting.

My heart fluttered, my pulse raced. At long last, after all these years I had finally, finally got a love letter from Mr T. Thoughts of sweet, affectionate, loving words crossed my mind. Words that would make my knees wobble, my lips moist, my body tremble with desire......

And then I read the note.

The note that drew my attention to his lack of shirts.

Yes, that's right readers; it was a formal complaint about his lack of ironed shirts.

I duly closed my laptop and retreated to the kitchen.

Unable to tie the noose sufficiently well and discovering that we don't actually have a gas oven I decided I might as well iron the shirts.

To keep my brain active during this mind numbing task I watched George Clooney in Intolerable Cruelty and Jude Law and Clive Owen in Closer. (There were a lot of shirts.) This made the task slightly more bearable. Well George made it a lot more bearable; you know I didn't even know I had a steam iron.

But what I want to know is why oh why do men require so many shirts at once? Are they so petrified about being attacked by an army of invading curries that they need a minimum of ten shirts ironed and hanging ready for battle in the wardrobe? Or do they have a bet on at work to see whose poor, over-worked wife has ironed the most shirts? Yep, I can see it now.....

"My wife ironed 10 yesterday."

" Well my wife ironed 12 and a pair of pants and she used starch spray."

"Bid deal! My wife ironed 20 shirts, 5 pairs of pants, 20 handkerchiefs, shot an elephant, painted a masterpiece and served me up a haute cuisine meal."

"Oh yeah! My wife........ blah, blah, blah, blah......."

Here's an important question; how many shirts does a man, on average, require in a day??

It's tricky. Think carefully. It could be a trick question.

Okay, that's enough thinking. The answer is...

ONE

Yes that's right. ONE.

Not two, three, four or five but ONE.

Now of course there are exceptions like when a man clumsily tips his cereal over himself at breakfast or chokes on his coffee when he reads his credit card bill but generally he only needs one shirt a day. So why this need for so many shirts? Mr T even has shirts in storage.... Why? Why? Why? Is there going to be a world shirt shortage? Will bankers throw themselves out of skyscrapers and the world economy collapse due to a lack of shirts???

" I can't take anymore of this! "

"Don't do it Mr Intrepid. Don't jump!"

"I am a broken man. I have no more shirts!"

"Don't jump. It's not worth it!"

(Sobs) "But my shirt is 12 months old and has a curry stain. I can't find another anywhere. My life is falling apart! Oh sweet death I embrace thee......."

"Take my blouse!" (Unbuttons blouse and hands to Intrepid) "Please take it!"

"No, I can't, I can't!"

" But my blouse really suits you! The colour really flatters your complexion. Pleeeease don't jump Mr Intrepid. Don't throw your life away over a stained shirt! Here takes my bra as well....You look wonderful..... you look like a new man!"

" But how can I wear them? (Weeps prolifically) How can I? When I have no matching earrings.... Oh God, what shall I do? I shall be the laughing stock of Wall Street.....(Wails)

"Here, take my earrings and my handbag...........You look divine!"

"You thinks so? (Tears momentarily abate.) But I have no tights! How can I go to the board room with no tights? Oh, no, no, no..........."

" Here, take my tights. Be careful how you put them on. I said be careful now....You're wobbling! STOP! ......STTTOOPPP....... WATCH OUT.... NOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

(Mr Intrepid falls to a certain death; no mention of the tights was made in the obituary. However on the gravestone it read; "Here lies Intrepid. He died a New Man.")

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So you can see from this sorry tale that men just can't do without their shirts. Just like women can't do without their choccy.

The only difference is you don't have to iron choccy.