You know, it’s interesting how late I can’t sleep any more. (Brief side note: does anyone know the rules on when to use “any more” vs. “anymore”?) Something happened when I got a 9-5, something that I’m fairly certain is sinister and e-vil. Whereas I used to be able to get up at, oh, eleven and still feel a little tired, I can no longer sleep past seven-thirty! It is the strangest feeling in the world to wake up atrociously early in the morning, take a shower, eat some food, and then discover that it’s only eight-fifteen. For example: I used to have a hard time getting up in time for church. It starts at ten-thirty (yes, I do refuse to type the numerals). Now I have a hard time filling the time between when I wake up and between when I leave for church. I’m not sure what’s happening to me.

I’m sure you probably all remember that momentous occasion when I broke down and bought some pants. I will have you know that since then I have remained vigilant, buying only a new pair of shoes (to replace my three-year-old busted up ones) and a new pair of flip-flops (to replace my other ones that fell apart). These are the only items of clothing I have purchased in the last six months, and I want you to all be proud of me and not hold what I am about to tell you against me, because I don’t think I could deal with your rejection. That girl forced me, at gunpoint, and with knives and sticks and rocks and pain, to acquire more objects for my wardrobe. It has been said that my clothing consists entirely of black shirts and white shirts, and khaki pants. I do not deny this, it is, as you might say, undeniable. It makes it easy to make it look like you know how to match colors because there really aren’t any colors to match. Well, so we went shopping and bought five new button-up shirts for me. FIVE! Button shirts! Shirts full of strange, wonderful, mysterious, scintillating, and frightening colors that leave one with the distinct feeling of wearing somebody else’s underwear. I have to keep asking other people if the combination of my shirt and pants is an acceptable schema, because it’s so complicated and I know so little about it and I’m just so confused, I really don’t know what’s going on right now and I’m just feeling a little bit vulnerable and maybe a little bit hotandbothered…

Look, you see? This is what kind of power girls have over guys. Here you are, perfectly content with the free-rangin’ lifestyle of being a bachelor, just wearing whatever’s on your floor and doesn’t seem too wrinkled, living off of pop tarts and cheap pizzas, and then alluvasudden she comes along and nothing’s the same.

Let me detail this for you. Your wardrobe isn’t good enough anymore, so you end up going out shopping without a specific goal in mind (and that’s the really scary part). So you pick out one article of clothing, and you’re ready to go, but she says, “Hmm, wait, try this one on.” You’re thinking, “But I already have the thing I’m going to buy… why would I try on another one?” This is your last rational thought for a while, because your next thought is “Well, what harm could there be in it?”. We call this the slippery slope, because then you think “And my, she is awfully cute.” That’s the end of it. You are firmly within her strangling, foul, ill-natured grasp and you are absolutely powerless to break out of it. When next you wake up, you’ll be at home, standing in an enormous pile of clothing up to your ears, holding a receipt for hundreds of dollars and wondering what just happened. As rational thought begins to bubble back up to the surface, you’ll think, “Mein Gott! I just wasted a lot of money on useless items and I COULD HAVE BOUGHT THAT NEW SMARTPHONE INSTEAD.”

I’m done with that thoroughly long, boring, and rambling story. Good day.

This entry was posted on Sunday, July 17th, 2005 at 8:18 am and is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.