Well, at least it’s not a backwards falling-apart shirt, or a shredded sports jersey. Saying “this could have been so much worse” is damning Monse with extremely faint praise, though. This is still a bit of a crinkly satin body cast. Actually, it reminds me of nothing so much as when the beans finally wander out of their bedrooms for breakfast before school, talking a mile a minute to each other about the Steelers or re-enacting an ad for Frito Lay’s, neither of them having successfully completed the act of putting on a shirt. “Aren’t you missing something?” I asked Dylan the other day, gesturing at his bare arm, the sleeve bunched up and unused on his shoulder. He glanced at it. Then: “YES. MY FOOTBALL. IT’S IN THE BEDROOM.” Maggie, you too are missing your football.