Why I souldn't shop.

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Humor  |  House: Booksie Classic
My attempt at humor, and shopping...

Submitted: July 08, 2008

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Submitted: July 08, 2008

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If it wasn’t for blue jeans and t-shirt I probably would have to walk around naked, or I would almost certainly be on the fashion police’s most wanted. My most recent dress shirt purchase proves my point.
While shopping for the best shirt, I always start with searching for the best tie. I am very particular, some will say peculiar, about my tie purchases. I am under the illusion, or better yet, the delusion that my clothes tell people who I am. My tees are the billboard to my psyche. If I’m feeling funny, I were a funny saying on my chest, not I’m with Stupid, but probably just as corny. My shirts tell you what kind of music I like, or liked, as with the 1978 Aerosmith concert T-shirt, faded and torn, or the Old Bastards concert t-shirt, the concert I didn’t even go to.  So, the tie can’t be too flashy, too many stripes, certainly none with heraldry, shields or crests on them. That leaves me with a plain color, but that’s too plain for me. So I keep looking.
I never thought of myself as a paisley type, but being October and the colors of this tie I found, oranges, greens and browns, was screaming out Autumnal Equinox. I decided that this tie was it; lucky tie. Now comes the shirt and again the same criteria comes into play. I find one, but the color is too close to the main color of the tie, the tie will get lost, like it’s on a vacation somewhere. I find another one, that one was, well, I don’t’ know, I just don’t like it. Then I find one that I like, it is just right. Just enough green and not too bright, hey I doing good and it has only taking me…What, an hour? Okay, I can do this. All I need now is a pair of pants, a jacket, socks, shoes…Oh my God am I getting tired. This is becoming work. Okay, I’ll just get black stuff now, black pants, black jacket, black shoes, I’m starting to feel like Johnny Cash. Then it dawns on me. The jacket is now going to cover the nice shirt and tie that took me a good part of the day to pick out. Why couldn’t this be a casual wedding?
Just then my wife shows up. “What is this?” she says, looking at the stuff I picked out.
“I’ve already found you clothes. They match mine,” she says without missing a beat, holding bags of clothes from the store that we were in.
I just look at her in awe and with a new found respect. I am merely an amateur; she is a pro.


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