Button It, Blog-Boy!

Damn, I’m in a tight spot here, clothing-wise, and I mean beyond my acknowledged and accepted utter lack of fashion sense. (By “acknowledged and accepted,” I mean that yes, I understand that the Whole Of Society condemns my assemblage of plaids and stripes. The Whole Of Society is wrong, of course, but I understand and accept that people are not going to change their ridiculous opinions.)

I’ve got a large and ever-growing cache of clothes which share a common attribute: the lack of at least one critical button. On pants, the critical button is, of course, the one that holds them up, and while I suppose I could wear them to work and rely on a belt to avoid any unpleasantness, belts do break, and the resultant trou-dropping and subsequent exposure of my lily-white ass would be both embarrassing and blinding. On the shirts, it’s really just the second-to-the-top button, as that's the one that keeps a person from looking like a disco-era refugee from Studio 54, and a missing lower one just gives quicker access to belly-scratchin’.

In any case, I’ve long promised myself that I would have Button Day, on which I would take a couple of hours, sit down with the entire pile, and sew the damn buttons back on. I’ve long broken, and continue to break, that promise; hence the large and ever-growing cache of clothes. Instead, I opt for a quick trip to Ross (a discount clothier) every once in a while, where the prices are lower than a sophomore’s standards at closing time at the Fireside.

Plus, they have a bitchin’ advertising jingle:

If you spend all your dough
On hookers and blow
And your gambling habit’s your boss

You can save oodles
With Top-Ramen noodles
And irregular rejects from Ross!

Anyway, I’m down to about three pairs of wearable work pants right now, one of which keeps getting shorter with each washing. I thought these types of things were only supposed to shrink up once, but these have gone from just right, to having to skootch them down a bit, to me having to make sure my socks match … they’re currently manpris, and I’m fairly certain that by October, I’ll have a new pair of shorts. Stupid cotton. I never have this problem with my rayon Hawaiian shirts that I get from the grocery store.

So I think that the Day of Reckoning Buttoning is quickly approaching, my epic run of procrastination at long last reaching its end. I could just continue my visits to Ross, I suppose, but I think that it’s time to finally stop taking the easy route, live up to my promise, and mend those things that I can.*

I’ll just need someone to volunteer to come over and supervise, as I am not allowed to be alone with sharp objects. Stupid court order.

* Just talking about clothes here ... this is not a metaphor or anything like that.