Thank you, Wolf Shirt!

Since none of you sad sacks listed what makes you happy, save three (thanks Anita and Tricia and Danon), I will move on to more important things. But what none of you knew is that by listing the things that make you happy, ALL OF YOUR WILDEST DREAMS WOULD COME TRUE!! ONE DAY ONLY! But it's too late now...

I knew I was going to make the "Good List" this Christmas for a number of reasons, including, but not limited to: switching the kids from Count Chocula to the healthier Fruit Loops (fruit is present on food pyramid), making daily stalker e-mails to The Edge shorter, and only parking in handicapped spots three times in 2009. However, I didn't realize how good I had really been until I pulled this baby out of my stocking:



Oh, yes. You can believe your eyes. I am now the proud owner of a wolf shirt.

You may be saying, "I know it's gorgeous, but why is it such a big deal?" If you are not familiar with the power and sex appeal of the wolf shirt, you need to check out the original wolf shirt on Amazon.com. Really. There are over 1300 reviews of the wolf shirt and the amazing things that happen to people who own them. Today's blog is a testament to what those 1300+ people have described in their testimonials. Mine is not the original Three Wolf Shirt listed on Amazon. My shirt is from the same company, Mountain Man, but mine is the Estrogen version, a stormy gray/tie dye looking one with three wolves (the second two are shrouded in mist). I am here to tell you they are all true.

Mountain Man Three Wolf Shirt

The kids woke up early on Christmas morn, and ran into our room, breathless.

"MOM! MOM! Hurry! Your Christmas stocking is glowing, and the song Freebird is playing!"

Freebird? That alone was enough to get me out of bed. I grabbed my lighter and half bottle of Bud Light from my nightstand and ran into the living room. Sure enough, my stocking was aglow. Suddenly, everything went into slow motion. My hand reached out toward the stocking and started to pull on a magical, stormy piece of fabric. Stardust and rainbows and ponies started shooting out of my stocking as I released the shirt from its polyester prison, and the room was quiet but for the lone howling of a wolf.

I wept. The children wept. Jesus wept. I pulled the shirt on over my "I'm With Stupid" shirt I wore to bed, and that's it happened. There are few things in a woman's life that can change her permanently: The first labor with an epidural. The Von Maur sale shoe room. The Twilight series. And now, a wolf shirt.

Everywhere the shirt touched my body was tingling in a not-unpleasant way. My husband looked at me as though I were a roast beef sandwich and a keg of beer with the remote on top. The children stood in front of me in a line and said, "What would you like us to clean, Wolf Mother?" Santa stuck his head back down from the chimney and begged me to return to the North Pole with him. "No, Santa," I said. "The voice of Wolfman Jack is whispering in my head, telling me I'm needed at the shore of the Mississippi River just blocks from my home."

I ran (gracefully, like Alice Cullen might) down the street to the riverbank, and what to my wondering eyes should appear but a sinking riverboat with children, puppies, and Taylor Swift on board, playing a new song on her guitar called, "God Help Us We're All Gonna Die."

I will admit that I panicked a bit, but then I let the calming powers of the wolf shirt take over. I moved on instinct alone when I placed my imitation Croc foot on the waters of the mighty Mississippi, and then placed my other foot in front of that. It wasn't so much that I was walking on water, as placing my feet on the backs of my submerged wolf brethren. I stood on the deck of that riverboat, pointing Northward, and yelled, "I'M THE KING OF THE WORLD!" and then pulled all of the passengers on my back and returned to shore.

Upon my return home, the Publishers Clearing House people, the Iowa Powerball committee, and David Hasselhof were all at my door, proclaiming me a "winner"! All of this, when just being the proud owner of this fine piece of apparel is reward enough. The only downside is that Stacy London and Clinton Kelly called and they no longer want me on What Not To Wear, because clearly I have my wardrobe together.

Thank you Wolf Shirt!

And Whoreticulture Friday will probably be a p.m. post, because it is New Year's Day after all, and coffee and Aleve can only do so much. In the words of Bono, "all is quiet on New Year's Day." Happy New Year!