Tuesday, September 19, 2006
I was cleaning my room last night, which basically consists of me shoving as much as I can into my drawers and then trying to shut them, with some degree of success. There are five drawers in my dresser: one for socks, one for underwear, and three for T-shirts and anything else I can cram in there. Three drawers for T-shirts? Yes, you read that right. You wouldn’t believe how many T’s I have, some of which date back to 1997. How do I know the exact year? Because the shirt usually says something like “Tiger Football Camp, 1997.” A classic never dies.
Because I have a gift for extreme frugality, many of the shirts I have were free. I used to run this scam with the US Army where I’d get as many as six free T’s every year. Here’s how it worked. Since the Army sucks, their recruitment numbers have been down for years, so to attract strapping young recruits like my brothers and I, they’d send promotional mail to our home a few times every year. With most of the propaganda they’d send, there was usually an offer for a free T-shirt if you simply filled out an information card and mailed it back (postage was free). We usually got six of these promo cards every year, and since my brothers aren’t quite as fond of free things as I am, they gave me their cards. That adds up to a lot of free shirts. The only problem is that the shirt usually had some gay Army slogan on it. I have some with the old “Be all that you can be” slogan on them, and a lot more with the current “An army of one.” Of course, the Army was too stupid to realize what was going on and never caught me. When I wear one (which is rarely), I always turn it inside out, and I usually only wear one when I plan on getting wet or dirty.
I also have promotional shirts I’ve gotten from casinos and radio stations, souvenir T’s from every place my parents have been in the last ten years, shirts from the various athletic teams I was on in high school, and several purple shirts that I got from a friend who was Weber State’s student body president several years ago. That’s why I need three drawers to hold them all. It’s quite a collection.
So, as I mentioned, I was cleaning my room last night, using every square inch of drawer space to temporarily transport clothes from my floor, when something incredible happened. After some successful cramming, I was trying to slide the drawers back into place. I got all but one of them back in place, with the stubborn drawer sticking out about an inch. Something was obviously lodged behind it, preventing it from shutting all the way. I pulled the drawer out and stuck my hand back there, felt around for a few seconds, and pulled out a pair of green shorts that I haven’t seen in years. My heart started pumping. In my hands, I was holding the best pair of shorts I’ve ever owned. One day, at least four years ago, they disappeared mysteriously, and I never found out what happened to them. So, in my excitement, I did what most normal 25-year-old males would do in the same situation. I ran upstairs and showed my mom, who was just climbing into bed.
The shorts were purchased at the Reebok outlet store in Park City on New Year’s Day, 2001. How do I remember? Because the shorts were so special, such an incredible find, that the date and place I bought them was seared into my long-term memory, permanently. Now I know what you’re thinking. All this for a pair of shorts? If you could see them, touch them, caress your cheek with their silky smoothness, you’d understand. I’ve never found a pair of shorts more comfortable, better fitting, or better looking, despite the bright green color. They're also quite long, which helps because I'm freakishly tall. My older brother liked them too. In fact, we bought the only three pair left in the store, and wore them until they were tattered rags, or in the case of my green ones, were lost.
After my beloved greenies were lost, I was understandably heart-broken. Over the years, after much analysis, my mom and I came up with several theories over what happened to them:
Because I have a gift for extreme frugality, many of the shirts I have were free. I used to run this scam with the US Army where I’d get as many as six free T’s every year. Here’s how it worked. Since the Army sucks, their recruitment numbers have been down for years, so to attract strapping young recruits like my brothers and I, they’d send promotional mail to our home a few times every year. With most of the propaganda they’d send, there was usually an offer for a free T-shirt if you simply filled out an information card and mailed it back (postage was free). We usually got six of these promo cards every year, and since my brothers aren’t quite as fond of free things as I am, they gave me their cards. That adds up to a lot of free shirts. The only problem is that the shirt usually had some gay Army slogan on it. I have some with the old “Be all that you can be” slogan on them, and a lot more with the current “An army of one.” Of course, the Army was too stupid to realize what was going on and never caught me. When I wear one (which is rarely), I always turn it inside out, and I usually only wear one when I plan on getting wet or dirty.
I also have promotional shirts I’ve gotten from casinos and radio stations, souvenir T’s from every place my parents have been in the last ten years, shirts from the various athletic teams I was on in high school, and several purple shirts that I got from a friend who was Weber State’s student body president several years ago. That’s why I need three drawers to hold them all. It’s quite a collection.
So, as I mentioned, I was cleaning my room last night, using every square inch of drawer space to temporarily transport clothes from my floor, when something incredible happened. After some successful cramming, I was trying to slide the drawers back into place. I got all but one of them back in place, with the stubborn drawer sticking out about an inch. Something was obviously lodged behind it, preventing it from shutting all the way. I pulled the drawer out and stuck my hand back there, felt around for a few seconds, and pulled out a pair of green shorts that I haven’t seen in years. My heart started pumping. In my hands, I was holding the best pair of shorts I’ve ever owned. One day, at least four years ago, they disappeared mysteriously, and I never found out what happened to them. So, in my excitement, I did what most normal 25-year-old males would do in the same situation. I ran upstairs and showed my mom, who was just climbing into bed.
The shorts were purchased at the Reebok outlet store in Park City on New Year’s Day, 2001. How do I remember? Because the shorts were so special, such an incredible find, that the date and place I bought them was seared into my long-term memory, permanently. Now I know what you’re thinking. All this for a pair of shorts? If you could see them, touch them, caress your cheek with their silky smoothness, you’d understand. I’ve never found a pair of shorts more comfortable, better fitting, or better looking, despite the bright green color. They're also quite long, which helps because I'm freakishly tall. My older brother liked them too. In fact, we bought the only three pair left in the store, and wore them until they were tattered rags, or in the case of my green ones, were lost.
After my beloved greenies were lost, I was understandably heart-broken. Over the years, after much analysis, my mom and I came up with several theories over what happened to them:
- The first (and most popular theory) was that I left the shorts at our family farm in Coalville after a day of river-tubing on the mighty Weber. It was assumed that a cousin, uncle, or other visitor to the house found the shorts, realized how special they were, and took them home for himself.
- Theory two also involves the farm and the Weber, but in this version, I was wearing the shorts over a swimsuit, stripped them off and threw them on the riverbank to play in the water, and they blew into the river and floated away. I was a big believer in this theory at one time. I just couldn't cope with the fact that my shorts were snagged on a water-logged branch somewhere in Weber canyon. It was painful to envision.
- Theory three has me leaving my shorts at Causey Reservoir after a day of cliff jumping. I could almost picture them up there, hanging from a tree or something. I left a pair of sunglasses up there once, so this theory seemed quite plausible at the time.
- Theory four has me leaving the shorts at Weber State's Swenson Gym after one of my volleyball classes. Yes, I'm not gay, but I took a volleyball class my second year of college, mostly to impress the ladies with my skills and get a guaranteed A. There were several beautiful girls in that class, and one of them actually seemed a little interested in me after we were on the same team for eight weeks, but I give all my womanizing credit to the shorts. A man who dares wear bright green shorts in public has to be a stud, a fact I'm sure she realized. I don't remember her name at the moment, but I'll never forget that face...and that body. When she played the front line for our team, with me and some other guys right behind her, she'd squat down really low, and her little shorts were stretched to the breaking point. Mmmm...hold on, let me wipe this drool off the keyboard. In all my years, I can't remember a tighter little body. Of course, I never made a move with her because I have zero balls, no confidence, and a severe lack of wealth, looks, fame, and other things women usually go for. If I could go back in time, I don't think I'd be able to do anything different about her, because there are some women who are simply untouchable in their beauty. She was from Illinois, so I often told myself that even if I did somehow manage to obtain her, it wouldn't work out because of our culture clash. That's what I like to do, defeat myself before I've even begun. It's a great defense mechanism.
Anyway, we were talking my green shorts, not goddesses from my college years. But I've realized now that I'd much rather talk about all the women I've secretly lusted after, college or otherwise. They actually have a lot in common, shorts and women. They both look really good when you first pick them up, but fade and tatter with age, losing their original beauty and appeal. You can have a fun time with both, and occasionally get a good workout with both as well. But shorts do have one thing going for them that women don't. Shorts can survive being crammed behind a dresser drawer for five years, something I'm dying to try with a lucky woman. Any volunteers?
# posted by RBW @ 10:09 AM 
