2005-03-29 - 12:49 p.m.
A few weeks ago, my lovely wife bought me some new dress shirts.
As I looked them over, I wondered to myself if my wife had finally gone insane, or perhaps she somehow spent the afternoon shopping in Tijuana.
The “dress shirts” are, shall we say, colorful. Very colorful.
One is purple. Besides a dancing/singing dinosaur and the flamboyant clerk at the video store who gives you funny looks when you come out of the “Adult Section”, I don’t know anyone who wears purple to work.
Okay, maybe Michael Moore, but that’s it.
Another shirt is a bright, powdery, queer assed blue. All the fellas down at the latte shop are known to wear this hue.
And the last shirt, the most colorful of them all, screams out “Cock Sucking Pink”
“No. It’s salmon” My wife corrected me.
“Salmon is a fish, not a color” I tried to tell her. “This shirt is pink: Cock Sucking Pink. Here, try it on and tell me that you don’t want to instantly slobber my pole” I suggested.
“No, it’s Salmon. It is a color, and it’s a very popular color. It’s the new black”. She stated matter of factly. I noticed she ignored my generous offer to lick me. Damn it.
“The new black? But I don’t even have any old black.” I pointed out to her.
However, after several years of marriage, I have learned it’s best not to argue about such things. It’s so much easier to hide them in the back of your closet and move on to more important things. “Thank you. Honey. I love them” I lied as I placed them in the back of the closet.
And so the queer eyed for the hapless suburban guy shirts sat in the back of my closet.
Until this morning.
As I was heading out to the office, I had what could be described as a “severe coffee malfunction” and spilled java all over my last clean, white, non homosexual dress shirt.
I can’t prove it, but I think one of the cats tried to trip me. Cats pull that shit all the time. I don’t know why, but they just do.
“Fuck me!” I blurted out, as the cat ran away laughing and flipping me the paw.
Stupid cat.
My lovely wife offered to iron a clean shirt for me as I mopped up the coffee off the hallway floor.
“Here ya go” she announced as she came out of the laundry room holding a freshly pressed SALMON shirt.
“ Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo.”
Given I was already late for work and that there was not another clean shirt, I was forced to wear the amazing Cock Sucking Pink shirt to work today.
“Nice shirt, faggot” the president of the lab snickered as I walked past him in the cafeteria this morning.
Actually he didn’t say anything, but I could tell that’s what he was thinking.
Everyone is thinking that.
Except for Jake, the guy in the next office to me. Jake is always inviting everyone down to the community theater to watch him perform in his latest musical. He saw me this morning and came prancing out of his office, and simply gushed over my shirt. He loved it. LOVED IT!
Christ, for a moment there, I though I’d have to beat him off. (Ba-dup)
Great. Fucking great. So goes my day. I have a meeting later today. I don’t feel like standing in front of 30 people trying to explain the joys of Gantt charts and Critical Path Methodology, all the while they secretly pass notes to each other about how truly queer I look.
“This guy is a homo. Let’s not listen to him” I imagine the notes will say. I will end up getting fired. My wife will divorce me and I’ll end up living in an old refrigerator box, downtown, with the rest of the alternative life style hobos. Great.
I’m getting rid of these shirts tonight. I don’t know what I’ll do. Perhaps I’ll drop them in the Goodwill donation box. Or maybe I’ll mail them off to some hapless sot.
Does anyone have the home address for incredipete ?!?
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