Seems that the Wonder Cat decided my cape would make a good bed. He dragged it off to his little hidey-hole and has made quite the futon out of it. Was none too please when I reacquired it. Of course, now that I have been without it for so long, I think I might lose it altogether. There is something clean – almost Bauhaus – about a simple uniform. ‘Course I can’t do my “Bela Lugosi” impression at the mixers anymore, but that was getting a bit old anyway.
Besides, it kind of smells like cat pee.
Why do they have to name these stores “Big & Tall” or “Big John’s Boutique”? It’s bad enough we can’t shop at Banana Republic, or even Gap for Pete’s sake, we have to endure the humiliation of buying our clothes at the same place the guy who wears Muumu’s gets his form fitting tarp.
People are always saying “Why don’t you just have your clothes custom made?”. Do you know how expensive that is? You know, we don’t get paid for saving mankind from the tyranny of despots. This is a charity, baby. And unlike a certain crusader I know, my parents didn’t leave me a billion dollars.
OK, that was a cheap shot, but the guy doesn’t have to rub our faces in it. Who wears a tux every evening? I mean, come on!