Or something to that effect. Not to mention that I want to try out this whole picture dealy.
So on Saturday, the whole family's home, apparently we have nothing to do, whats the first thing on the adgenda of preparing for things to come. Yes, shopping. So that's exactly what we do. Nothing like a family shopping trip to get your gears going. We buzz on out to the Grove. Now, the person that we're focusing on mainly is my little brother. He needs something that does not scream, "HEY! I'M AN AMERICAN COLLEGE FRATERNITY BOY. LOOK AT MY AMERICAN-NESS!" This should not be hard to do, and it isn't, unless you're banking on the fact that my father may have been forty years old coming out of the womb.
......
We ARE banking on this, and as expected, the first place we walk into is a slightly upscale men's/women's outfitters; the type that you see the country club mothers and dress down business executives in. NOT for my brother, but moving on.
Let me deviate for just a second and delve into a little backstory. My father, as conservative as he is, had this shirt. He does not have it anymore because he got rid of it. Why? Well, lets just say that it incurred just a little bit more teasing than he liked. So, when he threw it out, unbeknownst to him at the time, I grabbed it before it could make its journey to the Salvation Army. You know, black mail, or something. I will now show you why this shirt got its laughs at my father's expense...
As you can see, there is quite a motley of disaster going on here. And after a few wears around the house the shirt was affectionately dubbed, "The Clown Shirt", mainly because every emergence solicited a choral, "Ya da da-da-da da da-da-da" much like music of clowns hopping out of a clown car. Needless to say, he was not amused, and decided to put it to rest even though he loves that shirt. Little does he know, I'm taking it with me to Italy and unearthing it from my suitcase on Father's day. Heh.
Anyway, back to the original story. We walk into this store, which shall remain nameless because... well, I don't know. But it looked as though this shirt had come in and duplicated itself all over this store. It was EVERYWHERE. Some of the pieces were even worse, if you can imagine that. A blind gay man would be able to see them for miles away, moaning to himself, "Oh, dear Christ, what ARE you wearing?" ( I would post a picture of the pants/jackets/and skirts that were almost identical to that shirt, but unfortunately I didn't have a camera... and the brand is apparently smart enough NOT to put this stuff on its website.) My mother and I immediately get hysterical, snickering and poking fun at my dad. The sales ladies, however, seem to have a different opinion about the checkered mostrosities. Long story short, when my mother says that she would not be caught dead in something like that she is immediately shunned by the sales women. Josh has no clue what's going on, so I walk over to the other side of the store where I'm accosted by a flustered employee, "So, now your mother wants to try on a pair, huh?"
I throw the woman for a loop when I say, "No, I want to try them on." "That's right. Proove your mother wrong." Suuuuuuuure, lady. I pick out my size, throw them on, and strut to the other side of the store with an entourage of giddy women following me. I strike my best "VOUGE" pose in front of my mother and father, who are trying their best to keep their laughter and embarassment under wraps, when Josh walks out of the dressing room and exclaims, "Jezuz Christ, Megan! What are you wearing?!?"
I swear to G-d above that if words could kill about 3 or 4 sales reps died at that moment.
My mother and I are further shunned for the rest of the time we're in the store. Josh and Dad, on the other hand, are treated nicely because they're buying stuff.
I guess you had to be there to get the full effect, but if you have a vivid imagination-- that's all you really need.
Moral of the story: We may be assholes, but your clown pants/jackets/skirts are fucking ugly.
the rest of my weekend comes later.
Ta
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