Help, I think I’m shrinking.
Recently, I went to one of those hip clothing stores to purchase a new pair of blue jeans. Although I’ve had a 34-inch waist for as long as I can remember, at this store, I’m a 32. What the fuck is going on there? Is it that damn metric system that throws everything off? Is it the low-rise design? Or maybe it has something to do with my bulimia.
No, I kid. Hope I didn’t offend anyone with an eating disorder. I love the bulimics.
Anyhow, it gets worse: I’ve had a 32-inch inseam for my entire adult life. But at this place, I’m almost tripping over what are supposed to be 32-inch-length jeans. I guess that’s the new style. Are the bottom of my pant legs supposed to drag across the pavement as I walk. Is that how it works? Hm.
In any case, after trying on numerous pairs of jeans, each with its own unique ghastly wash, I finally decide on a pair that looks almost normal. Of course, they cost as much as a new hard drive. But a new hard drive isn’t going to keep my ass warm or make it look sooo good. So I clench my fist and say, “I’ll take ’em.”
As the cashier is carefully folding my jeans, wrapping them in tissue paper and securing the entire package with a silk ribbon, he instructs me on how to care for my new investment. “You want to wash these separately in cold water on the gentle cycle,” he says. “Don’t put them in the dryer.” Yeah, right. I’m gonna do that. Why stop there? Maybe I should soak them overnight in a solution of lavender soap and Evian. Or perhaps it would be best if I rinsed them in a mountain stream and hung them out to dry in a pine forest.
Fuck that. I’m going to shove them in the washing machine with all of my other dark clothes. Sure, they might bleed and destroy my fine washables, but I’m willing to take that chance. And when the wash cycle is over, guess what. Yeah, into the dryer they go — on the highest setting. Who knows, maybe they’ll shrink enough so I can actually walk in them without tripping.
Of course, there is that slight chance that my overly effeminate salesperson was right. Maybe my jeans will come out looking like somebody was beaten to death with them. If that’s the case, so be it. I’ll just go out and buy another pair. Then again, I could use another hard drive.
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