don't need jack

The t-shirt reads: DON'T NEED JACK. A joke. A gift. A joke-gift, thwarted by my over-critical thinking skillz, yo.

I mean, I get it. (My name is Jill.) And it's a cool shirt, cap sleeved and my favorite shade of green. But it seems a tad off-putting, don't you think? Who's-that-angry-girl-in-the-green-t-shirt antagonistic, you know?

Is that what my friends think of me? I need a new outlook. I should smile more and learn to snowboard. Get laid and donate those old shoes to the homeless.

And a lie.

I do want a jack eventually. Eventually, inevitably drawing closer by the day. One hopes. Or rather, one hopes without hoping, because as we all know, hope is like roach spray to the men we meet.

Man spray.

Man Ray.

Life surreal.

And I most certainly want more jack-in-the-bank so I can buy a new television that doesn't go bzzipfft and switch itself off in the middle of a compelling meltdown on Trading Spouses. (I only watched it that once, I swear.)

Plus, I've had a jack or two in my life, some more important than others. And while I don't know that I need(ed) them -- I'm still here, aren't I? At least whole of body. -- some of them I wouldn't mind having back.

Want. Want. Want.

Want the subtext that no one would read. But I would and that. . . well that just seems desperate. Unless, of course, I wear it ironically.

How do you accessorize for irony?

And now I'm not sure if I should or shouldn't wear the shirt. Thing is, it's really cute. And it is funny. But tell me, do you think the universe would get the joke?