I have never seen a tank top rank in the top 10 fashion ‘staples,’ yet this is one clothing item I cannot live without. I will wear a cami (those spaghetti strapped ones) but what I prefer are the thick strap tank tops that are long in the torso and awesome to layer.

I like the way they are summery, yet I can wear my actual, real bra underneath. Tank tops create a third hand, if you will. When I’ve got one arm loaded with groceries, and the other one pulling my son away from oncoming traffic, my cell phone slides quickly into the convenient “pocket” of my cleavage (through the tank top neck), thus maintaining my illusion of having it all together to the person on the other end of the phone. (the illusion is broken when the swearing starts, but up until that point, all is good.) I’ve tried the “chest pocket” in other shirts– too many buttons, not enough give… a NIGHTMARE. I’ve never had a problem with my trusty tank top. Never.

In June, tank tops are great with jeans, capris and those cute flowy skirts that TV moms wear when they pick up their kids from school. I haven’t quite mastered the breezy June-skirtwalk yet, though. In my head, I look a lot like Marilyn Monroe. The horrified looks on the other parents’ faces suggests I look more like an umbrella in a hurricane, but hey, my trusty tank top does not move in the wind. At least some of my assets are covered…

Every July, I sweat and toil pulling weeds in my travesty of a garden. Overrun with something thistle-ish, my garden goes from Martha-Stewart-Perfect to Where The Wild Things Are seemingly overnight. April and May give me illusions of gardening grandeur. June gives me hope. July dashes it away leaving me feeling confused and hurt like the nerd girl in an 80’s coming-of-age story. July, by the way, is the wildly popular footballer who is only dating the nerd on a dare. Stupid, heartbreaking July.

Regardless of July’s hunky features, my tank top allows me unrestricted movement whether I’m digging a hole from which to unearth the most enormous weeds since the Jurassic period, or as I lay in the grass, panting, sweating and hating life because I’ve been weeding for 3 hours and you can’t. freaking. tell.

Also, tank top keeps my dirty secret when I begin covering my garden in dirt and grass seed. It’s how we garden, my tank top and me.

Then, when August hits and I walk around wearing the darkest, biggest sunglasses invented, AND a gigantic-brimmed hat,shaking my fist angrily at the sun, my tank top makes me look less insane. I know you’re wondering how a simple piece of seamless bamboo might do so much, since insanity must be a deep problem in my life. But, I ask you this: how many times did Amanda Bynes wear a tank top, sunglasses and a hat, in her early career? Often. Did she look crazy? Nope. It has everything to do with the tank top; since she stopped wearing them, it is pretty obvious she is off the HOOK insane. True story.

Tank tops hide the sneezes, the dried hand prints, and the various other accessories of motherhood. Add a scarf and they’re even dressy in a euro-chic way. I’m telling you, tank tops are the next big thing. And even if they aren’t, they’re The Top to me. Ba-dum-bum.