This is Just Typical

Normally, I dress like a piece of shit. No, don't try to make me feel better, it's true. It's not that I don't like to look nice, it's just that, well, to get nice clothes to fit a deformed figure like mine, it takes a team of professional tailors at several hundred dollars an hour. Even then the suits I end up with don't quite fit right. One sleave will be too long, one will be too short, they won't tie together right behind my back. You know.

The point is that when I do dress nicely, it is for special occasions. Today I have to go to Pittsburgh to pick up a consultant for work, and I was told to "Try and look like you know how to use a washing machine." So, today I am dressed in my best powder blue tuxedo complete with wide collars and lacey shirt. The admiring looks I get as I stroll through the office are almost worth the $68.95 I paid for this thing a few years back, and I just know that the Blondage is going to want to tear it off me when I get home from Pittsburgh tonight. But, as always happens, today was a day for a coffee incident.

Coffee at work is always two things: weak and cold. So today, when I took my first life-giving gulp of the caffeinated nectar, the boiling espresso that hit my lips caused a chain reaction, the final step of which was 6 ounces of black java soaking into the blue-tipped frills of my best tuxedo shirt, running down the front of my pants, and soaking one of my yellow dress-socks. This wouldn't have been so bad, except that the resultant burn caused me to shriek like someone had just pulled one of my pigtails, stolen my Barbie (tm) and stepped on my saddleshoes. When the safety manager came running, incident report, first aid kit, and digital camera in hand, I knew I was done for. I guess I'll change at lunch. My only other suit was borrowed from Don Johnson and never returned, so at least I'll still look good.

I got third degree burns from my disco inferno.