January 16 is my birthday, and I am happy about that. I think 27 is going to be a good year. But today, I have a story to tell you. A wonderful, wonderful story. Gather 'round, children.

As you know, Dan and I recently returned from a trip to Mississippi. When we were unpacking our suitcases after our return to Albuquerque, I came across this shirt. Behold it in all its glory.

That's right. It is my mother's "Bush Country 2004 -- My America!" T-shirt. (Exclamation point rendered exactly as it appears.) I don't think there are words sufficient to convey to you the background on this shirt, but I will try.

I can only assume that Mom bought this item some time in 2004. She got to meet the president during the 2004 campaign, which was a big highlight of the year for her, since the president is her homeboy, as documented here. But 2004 or not, from the moment this shirt appeared in mom's wardrobe, we, or at least I, have come to view it as a member of the family. A loud, tacky member of the family who you don't want to take out in public.

I'm not sure why I don't like this shirt. I don't really dislike the president. I don't always agree with him, but I don't wish him any ill. I don't think it's even about the president. I think it's about the shirt. Maybe it's the exclamation point. Maybe it's the wildly inaccurate map representation of how much of the country joins my mom in total adoration of the president. Maybe it's my belief that any sentiment you can fit on a T-shirt or a bumper sticker has probably lost all meaning in the editing process. (That goes double for religious bumper stickers.)

But no matter my reasons, mom has somehow picked up on the fact that I don't like the shirt. (Perhaps it was the subtle fits of dry heaving I engage in every time she brings it out. Hard to say.) But what is beyond dispute is that she was being mean to me when, over the holidays, I asked to borrow a T-shirt while Hannah and Audrey and I were soaking our feet in the tub in my parents bathroom before giving ourselves pedicures. My mom, recognizing that I was stranded with wet feet and that all of my T-shirts were upstairs, took total advantage of the situation and tossed me the Bush Country T-shirt. She then proceeded to take photos of me wearing it. I don't know what happened to those photos, but should they ever surface on the Internet, I would like to state for the record that I was wearing it under duress.

Still, as we all know, revenge is sweet. Because as I have mentioned, I have the shirt now. I guess I just wore it up to my room and it got mixed in with all of our clothes. So the question on this, my birthday, the day when my mom cannot disown me even if she wants to, is: Should I give the shirt back, and what should my ransom demands be? Leave me your thoughts in the comment section. I'm considering some pretty lofty demands. Possibly free lodging and good food every time I'm in Mississippi. Or maybe unconditional love and great cookbooks for my birthday. I don't know what would be a high enough price in exchange for continuing to let the shirt live.

I'll keep you posted on the hostage situation as breaking news develops.