My desire may have increased during but especially after my second marriage because husband #2 was, apart from being American (not that it’s bad to be American), republican (see it needed to be said that he was American or else the impact of the word “republican” would have been lessened enormously) and a profound hater of anything as unpatriotic as revolution or freedom fighting. Damned commies!
So recently, a few months after I was overcome with the need to dye my hair pink, I scoured the internet for a source and I found my Che Guevara t-shirt. It was grey (an unassuming color in itself) with Che printed on the chest. The pièce de résistance of the thing was that the makers of the t-shirt had taken the time to give Che a red star on his cap. It was completely irresistible. I got it.
Friday is kind of “casual Friday”, or “mufti” as they like to call it here in the land of Oz, in the office so one Friday I decided to wear “the Che” to work together with my gun steel gray Dr Martens. There’s nothing quite like being revolutionary on a Friday, I tell ya!
I was feeling pretty good about myself, and even a little bit controversial, but that only lasted until someone took one look at my chest, chuckled and said “Only a real woman can make Che Guevara look like a hamster”.
It took me a while, actually it took me going to the bathroom checking myself out in the mirror, to figure out what the hell this person was talking about. There, across my chest, was poor Che Guevara stretched in a way reminding me about how young Elvis stretched over time to become fat Elvis. It looked like I was wearing a t-shirt sporting a picture of Che Guevara and a hamster’s love child. I had my Che Guevara t-shirt but it wasn’t looking at all the way I had dreamed of.
I don’t have a picture of me in it but it looked something like this:
I'm just saying.