ColumnistsDaragh Keany

My Playboy shirt was like the mascot my our summer in Toronto

The shirt was like the mascot of our summer in Toronto
The shirt was like the mascot of our summer in Toronto

Being married to me isn’t the easiest of jobs.

I’m a bit of a messer, when I drink I black out and I’m perfectly comfortable living in relative squalor before attempting to clean. 
As a consequence of that last point I tend to hoard clothes longer than I should. Wardrobe audits are few and far between. And each time I have completed the audit I have had a battle of conscience about one particular item of clothing — my Playboy shirt, a once-awesome short-sleeved shirt emblazoned with Playboy covers that I purchased in Toronto in June 2000.
At the time it took me four days to decide whether or not to fork out $96 on it, considering I only had a couple of hundred dollars and no job. But it became a shirt of legend that summer and even got me and seven mates into a VIP Elle party (that’s another story altogether).
It was like the mascot of our summer. When I wore it out it became a talking point for anyone in the clubs and I got some serious action in that shirt. 
My wife, whom I met in Toronto, was never its biggest fan. I know! Weird right? Maybe it is because the shirt reminds her of Tracey, the woman I had relations with for the whole summer. I was wearing it the night I bagged the lady who my mates still describe as a Gloria Estefan lookalike. 
But I’m with Sarah now for 15 years. We are married. Two kids. She has nothing to worry about. So why do I have to get rid of the shirt? It’s a classic and it brings back amazing memories. 
F**k it. I’m keeping it. At least until the next audit in 2018. Good chat.