Mr. B owns a bunch of t-shirts that I HATE because they make him look like an antisocial programmer and he LOVES because they make him look like an antisocial programmer. They are all around six to seven years vintage. I’ve been quietly throwing most of them away, but one was left, this one:
If you have to ask, you aren’t cool enough.
Anyway, so as we were moving stuff, I quietly managed to throw out this shirt. Or so I thought. As we were walking out the door yesterday, Mr. B said, “I know you threw out my shirt. Don’t think I didn’t notice it in the trash. So I put it on top of the trash bag. To remind myself.” And indeed, there it was.
“That shirt is older than our marriage and college careers put together,” I said.
“I was going to get really angry and throw out some of your clothes. And tell you to watch out for missing stuff. But since I’m all white now from living in Bethesda for so long and have become a minimalist, I won’t, because I just look at it as responsibly downsizing my household possessions.”
Thanks, Bethesda. I owe you one.
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Luckily I didn’t have to ask
But seriously while I have downsized books recently (a few hundred if you want to know) and yet schlepped 30-40kg of them across 4 countries and a dozen cities, I still am in possession of a t-shirt that was a hand-me-down from a friend and before that it belonged to her brother who is much older than both of us. The t-shirt has been with me for 16 years and is still going strong. Mr B is a nice guy. I know what I would do if someone tried to throw that t-shirt. 
I have nothing but admiration for your moves and have no idea how you did it. As for the shirt, it was totally weighing us down.