Pointless rambling is fun

I hate fashion. Not in a vile, throw paint on runway models way. I see all the hip people and the new, shiny clothes they’re wearing and I just don’t care. Sure, donning the latest $100 shirt might project a better image than my $10 logo-less golf shirt, but why? That’s not who I am, or who I care to try to be. Clothes a function, not form. I’ll wear jeans or a t-shirt until it’s only presentable in a frat house and then, maybe, I’ll trash the tattered cotton (for it is always cotton over synthetic). On those occasions my clothes must leave my closet for their final destination, only then do I replace them. Usually with the same item.

This weekend I had to purchase new pants for work. While my co-workers (my brother included) go for the ever-so-appropriate “slacks”, I dart for the decidedly coolness-free Dockers&#174. Such is life. When I realized a few months ago that the edges were fraying on most of my pants, exposing the inner plastic lining, which is surprisingly sharp against skin, I dreaded the looming shopping task. Fitting rooms, a lack of pants in my size, and a abundance of pleats is enough to break me out in hives. When I found pants like what I aimed to replace, I tried them on. When they fit, I purchased two, one black, one off-white. Dark and light, that’s the motto with shirts and pants. One dark color mixed with one light color and I’m dressed. In some aspects, I’m quite the simpleton.

This morning, I wore the new black pants. Since I dress in a hurry in the morning, I don’t usually check my clothing before leaving. As long as everything is comfortable, I think nothing of any possible negatives. I should.

When I sat down on the metro this morning, I realized that my pants were covered in cat hair. That’s not unusual because, with two cats at home, I often have to run the lint brush over my clothes when I get to work to pick off the few stray hairs. What I saw this morning fell outside of the usual. My black pants looked like someone shaved the orange cat to his skin, then dipped my pants in a foul, chalky egg batter to guarantee maximum adherence before dragging both legs through the cat shavings. Twice. I had to use four sheets from the lint brush to get most of the hair off.

I remembered to brush my pants about ninety minutes after I arrived at my desk.