I went shopping for sensible shoes and a dress shirt. I hate shopping, hate it with a passion. Therefore, like most men, I go into a store and my thought process goes as such. These are shoes. They are black. They fit. They look acceptable. Sold. This is a shirt. It is blue. It matches my suit. It matches my tie. Sold. Oooh, I don't have to iron it. Bonus.
So now I just need a haircut and to dry-clean my suit.
hehehe…
“ooooh, the shirt doesn't fit.”
—> redo from start.
(http://livejournal.com/users/raspberrysalmon)
nope, even better. an old dude with a measuring tape checked me out and handed me a shirt. it is a shirt. it is blue…
(http://livejournal.com/users/talisker)
aaaaah, okay, that IS good.
(http://livejournal.com/users/raspberrysalmon)
Did he measure your inseam like the pervo guy from Friends?
And just so you know, add another point to my I-am-secretly-a-man-yet-still-have-the-AGBs… that is the story of my life, just replace old dude with busty redhead.
(http://livejournal.com/users/eniran)
AGBs? I get the girl bit part, but what's the A?
(http://livejournal.com/users/talisker)
Awesome.
(http://livejournal.com/users/eniran)