I’ve started to realize that I love soft shirts. I don’t care if they’re pink or oversized or undersized, I like soft shirts. A while back I ran across a half off of the Clearance rack on Hot Topic. (I know. I do know.) Rummaging through I found a marvelously soft long black tank top, on the front, in red script was, “I dig pale, scrawny guys.” I chuckled since this is a pretty accurate statement, and since it was three dollars, I took it with me.
I hadn’t really worn it except for around the house. When I was at my parents’, my Mom folded it after washing it and asked me, “What does scrawny mean?”
“Skinny, no muscles.”
Her brow twitches and she says, “This… is true.”
Today I decided to wear it to work, figuring, I sit alone, I can wear pretty much anything. I meander out to lunch and stop by to chat with R at the reference desk. We talk for a couple of seconds when a guy stands up from the row of computers in the lobby. He’s clad in complete skin tight bicycle gear, complete with Spandex Daisy Dukes. And while I can get behind biking, I cannot get behind The Spandex.
I try to lock eyes with R and toss them quickly in his direction. She looks over quizzically and her eyes widen slightly. Before we can catch our glances together he walks over. He speaks to R, “My browser is locked up.” R jumps up to assure him to help him and walks to get out from behind the desk.
The man turns to me and flashes a wide smile and I catch the strangely large size of his canines. “You like scrawny guys? Pick me, pick me,” he says and slightly hops with each “pick me.”
“I, um… well,” and fade into my ‘Boy am I uncomfortable but I’m going to fake it with laughter’ chuckle. I toss out, “I’m going to lunch” to R and scuttle away thinking that maybe I really should just wear this one inside-out in public. That’ll teach me.
Also, unrelated – I remembered that I don’t like long hair! Funny that.