I carried an exercise bike. Totally not what I should have done with the thing, but after the looks the salespeople gave my gut I thought I should show them that I could carry the damn thing to the car. Which in the pantheon of stupid things that happened around me was nothing because as a girthy man I hefted that box out to the car and then waited until we left to start breathing heavily. It’s not what they know it’s what you show and I showed them!
Thus I have a sore shoulder, but I have an exercise bike; personally I think the trade off is worth the temporary pain and as my spirit guide Tyler Durden likes to say, “Sticking feathers up your but does not make you a chicken” or something like that. Not that I was going to stick the handles up my butt and claim to be a bike…what a fucked up Transformer that would be. Personally I feel more like, “Even the Mona Lisa is falling apart.”
I try to act my age, but without a proper role model around I continue to act like myself and how meyeself gets treated is totally based upon the T-shirt I am wearing and NOT who I am only who I wore or who I am wearing, I always wanted a vest with tits…when I wear “How to Pick Up Chicks, shirt which shows the proper way to safely pickup a baby chick women glare and men grab their women, you know in case I might lunge at them and pick them up by their rump. I only do that in the bedroom as part of the Farmer Ted scenario night (I play Farmer Ted with a girthy pitchfork). What I meant to say, is that I know how to safely pick up a chick, woman, small child, and bird that has stunned itself on our front window.
Long story turned into a 500 word story the T-shirt I wear seems to impart more to people than the look on my face, the other clothing I am wearing-commando!-and any other factor which may be relevant. The cat shirt for example, I hate cat shirts, cat memes, and in most cases cats. I know they are cute, but cats and I have a long and contentious history, yet I own and wear with some pride a cat wearing sunglasses shirt and I get the shittiest and stupidest days every single time. I wear it, I believe, because on some subconscious level I am tempting fate to kill me while wearing the shirt because people who know me wouldn’t be able to put cat shirt + dead me together.
If I was found wearing a Spongebob shirt, “Oh yeah, that’s him for sure.”
The cat shirt, “Nope, no clue at all. Maybe he stole Nate’s ID.”
Two cars, three shopping carts, and a deer today all tried to hit me or get hit by me in one way or another while the shirt was on. I swear its just a cat wearing sunglasses nothing more. No subtle jab at women visa vie picking up chicks implies that I am after your chick, you the chick, or have any sort of misogynistic intentions towards you…the proverbial chick in this example.
And maybe that is why the salesperson kept looking at my chest so oddly, not thinking, now there is a girthy man who could use an exercise bike, but more in a why in the fuck does he have a cat stretched to ridiculous proportions across his chest or maybe he really was looking at my girthy commando region thinking that he could imagine snuggling up with a man who loves cats enough to wear them on his chest after a workout on the bike…
shirts define who I am and I am someone who wears a lot of shirts
“Reject the basic assumptions of civilization, especially the importance of material possessions.”