I have seen many t-shirts in my time - almost five - but none have inspired me in quite the same way.
One wolf is a luxury; two, pure decadence; but three? 'Surely no man wields such a mighty chest as to be able to harness these averagely transferred beasts?' thought I. But if mine were such a chest then perhaps womenfolk might gaze upon me and say 'Oooh'.
Sweating, I began furiously hitting the keys to place an order (not from Amazon, mind), there was not a moment to lose. 'There must be a Large left! There must be!'
I powered through the rest of the order like a man possessed with the spirit of a man really trying to order something quickly. I whipped out my credit card, but was instantly struck cold with the realisation that this plastic friend was at his limit. I reached down for another card, but that was for my current account, and there were Albanian shell suit merchants that had more money than could be found there. A third attempt only produced a Tesco Clubcard in the name of Mrs Olga Legg. Very odd.
What was going on? Did God hate me? Why was I being presented with such majesty, only to have its miniature form mock me on this screen, with no hope of ever securing one of my very own? I was running out of options like Mrs Legg was running out of opportunities for discounted beans.
Then I remembered; my savings! I could prize the cash from there and still have enough to buy a small doughnut in 2017, interest rates permitting. Result! I hit the last few buttons like an insolent child. Finally, it was done. And then came the wait...
Four days passed. Five. Six, seven. 'There must be a problem. It's been too long.' The second T-shirtless week came around like an unwanted relative. I couldn't eat. I couldn't sleep. 'What if I entered the wrong address?' No, I had already checked that. 'What if there were none left in stock?' No, they would have told me, surely. 'What if the Royal Mail sorting office had been taken over by squirrels, demanding equality for rodents?' Possibly just the wrong side of unlikely.
Suddenly, the doorbell went. Now I really was nervous. Only once before had I been so nervous about cotton-based goods, and that was just a baseball cap that had a picture of an indifferent tortoise on it. This time it was wolves. Howling wolves. Three of them. And a moon. And probably some brief washing instructions.
I ran to the door and flung it open. When the postman had finished soiling himself, he leant forward awkwardly to hand over the parcel, trying admirably not to empty the contents of his trousers on my porch. It was here!
I can honestly say I've never looked back. I don't wear anything else. Literally. Sure, I've been arrested in every major supermarket for being naked from the waist down and limited washing has meant that I smell faintly of mushroom, but the wolves are a greater power and I no longer recognise Earth's laws.
If you embrace nothing else in your life, dear reader, embrace this T-shirt. If you don't, small girls will laugh at you in the street, you'll be denied service at most leading fast-food outlets, and you'll almost certainly be refused entry to Butlins.