I'm a peacock!
I’m not really much of a clothes shopper (to which you feign astonishment, “Nooooo?! Really?!? Isn’t that shirt you have on something you wore in High School?”)
However, I’ve been in desperate need to get another pair of jeans (I’ve been able to get away with less pairs since my previous job was business casual and I spent most of my life in dockers).
Kohl’s has been having this big holiday sale this past week, and because I was suckered into getting a Kohl’s charge card (that saved me an extra 20% on my first purchase), I get these random pieces of snail mail that include bait like a 15% off coupon on top of sales…
This was too much to resist.
So, to Christmas music, I quickly found my usual levi’s (550s… the politely named “relaxed fit”). As a man, it’s my duty to make shopping trips as quick and efficient as possible… none of this “browsing” nonsense. As I was making my way back to the register (the fastest path I calculated was possible, actually), something caught my eye.
I can only call them a “dressier” pair of jeans in a darker shade… They called out to me. Bizarre. Must be the extra oxygen they pump into stores.
The butt and thighs of the pants looked like they would be a little tighter than I’m used to. The hipster Kohl’s house brand has the word “Urban” in it, so I guess I expected something, I dunno, sloppier.
What the hell. I threw the pants into my basket; nobody will see me in the dressing room.
Since I was in there anyway, and since I was in a risk-taking mode, I figured it wouldn’t hurt to peek around to see what all the kids are wearing these days.
So, taking my cues from the Queer Eye guys, and realizing that blues, greys, and blacks dominate my wardrobe color scheme, I stopped in front of a display of vividly colored shirts.
A sidenote: it appears that vertical stripes on men’s shirts are in. This is particularly good for optical illusions that benefit people of my (ahem) “stature.”
I heard Carson’s voice in my head, “Honey, just pick up the damn pink shirt, already.”
As if drawn by some unseen, smart-ass gay force, my hand reached for the pink, striped shirt and despite my very heterosexual, primal warning flight-or-fight instincts, I decided I simply must put it into the try-on pile.
In the dressing room, I had on my urban jeans and my eyes were screwed tight as I buttoned up the frou-frou shirt.
I opened my left eye (because looking with only one would obviously dull the humiliation).
I was stunned by what I saw in the mirror.
Dammit if I didn’t look…, dare I say, friggin’ hot. First of all, the jeans fit perfectly. I’ve never had magical pants like these, but they seemed to instantly drop 10 pounds out of my middle and rump and made me 3 inches taller. They fit snugly, but not suck-it-in-to-button uncomfortable. The shirt, easily the most colorful I now own, actually looked pretty slick (untucked, of course), and, to take a page from the fashionistas, “Brought out my skin tone.”
5 shirts, 2 jeans, and 2 pairs of shoes later, I’m walking out humming the christmas song from “Toys” with my arms carrying two very gigantic shopping bags.
Bless you, Queer Eyes. Your holy work spreads further than you know.<!–break–>
