Dear Bob of Bob's Gifts and Sundries,

You probably know me. I am the woman who comes in most every night to get a pack of smokes. Some nights I'm with Len, a guy I met because he goes to the Beachcomber, the same bar as me. Some nights I'm in with Paul, a guy I met because he goes to the Beachcomber, the same bar as me. Some nights, I'm with George, a guy I met because he goes to the Beachcomber, the same bar as me. We're all the best of friends, if by "best of friends" you mean "people who will routinely get drunk and go home with each other and have the beginnings of sex before falling asleep on the couch." When I'm with Len or Paul, I let them drive. Len can handle his liquor like a pro, and Paul is even better. But when I'm with George, I have to drive. George hasn't had a license since 1998.
So, really, that's all I need to say. The rest unfolded like a play. Len brought me in one night and made me buy a shirt that had an arrow pointing down and big letters that said, "I'm With Stupid (And He's Usually In Here)." Later he made me wear it and then lifted it over my head in a fairly suave motion. The next night, I came in with Paul, and he made me buy the shirt that everyone has seen, the one that says "I'm Not An Alcoholic, I'm a Drunk -- Alcoholics Go To Meetings." Later he made me wear it and keep it on while we got down to business. It was exciting. In fact, I was still wearing it the next evening, when George and I, on our way to his apartment, got pulled over.

I am not blaming you, just letting you know that the hilarious oversize t-shirts you sell are not simply novelties. To some people, they are much, much more.

Yours,
Amanda Lynn Bailey