I saw someone wearing a shirt today that said “Eat Pasta Run Fasta,” and I can’t get it out of my head.

For Valentine’s Day, I’m gift-wrapping a shirt my husband hasn’t worn in years. It’s the thought that counts—and technically, I thought of it twice.

Accidentally wore a blue shirt to Walmart and now I’m in the stockroom showing Sue how to use the forklift.

Of all her outfits, my shirt and no underwear will always be my favorite.

You wear a white shirt and all of a sudden everybody wants to go eat spaghetti.

Headless mannequins are great because they let you see how you’ll look wearing a new shirt after you’ve been decapitated.

I made the mistake of clicking on an Instagram ad for a flannel shirt, and now the algorithm thinks I’m a lumberjack.

The secret to my success is everywhere I go I wear a shirt that says STAFF on the back.

The Princess and the Pea, except it’s a rogue hair on the inside of my shirt driving me crazy all day.

I could never work in an aquarium. I would have a penguin under my shirt at the end of the shift.

How long do you actually have to wear a muscle shirt until you get muscles?

Of course, because I’m wearing a white shirt, my coffee chose violence.

Dear autocorrect, that’s not what I was trying to say. I’m getting tired of your shirt.

Do you ever feel like you’re a white shirt and life is a red wine?