hazardous cargo

D: Okay, it’s been over a month. I think I can talk about The Cargo Shorts Incident without PTSD.

The (heh) short of it: some time back (like early June?) I ran into PB in the bike lane en route to work. Immediate reaction: revulsion.The cause: his ensemble of a novelty-logo t-shirt, athletic shoes sans socks, and CARGO SHORTS. Not Jack Spade-esque slim cargos, oh no. These were the worst offering of Abercrombie & Fitch circa, like, 2001. The kind of cargo shorts with pockets upon pockets. So very puffy. I think a built-in webbed belt was involved. These were the shorts you'd wear if you were a college sophomore playing frisbee golf on the quad with your fraternity brothers.

A Lady: Oh god I lost it at logo-tee. A grown man wearing cargo shorts? I mean, sure, I think the Current/Elliott skinny cargo pants for ladies are kinda cute but ON A DUDE? AND SHORTS? I can’t.

D: IMAGINE HOW I FELT.
At least he was wearing a bike helmet?

A Lady: This confirms my belief that you place too much emphasis on the presence of a bike helmet when evaluating people.

D: I went to work and immediately bitched about the outfit to a sympathetic coworker, who pointed out that perhaps since it is summer and he was biking to work at his fancy not-at-all-unlikely-to-require-a-suit-occasionally job, he was probably going to shower at the office gym and change into Real Person Clothes there. I grudgingly accepted this idea, but oh man, I did not entirely trust the hypothesis.

A Lady: Had you bitched to me instead you KNOW I would not have let that slide or told you to give him the benefit of the doubt. Which is probably why you bitched to the coworker instead. Also, if I can bike in a pencil skirt and four-inch heels, he can bike in pants.

D: Heh. So, the next day we had date plans to see a play and have dinner. Note that I hauled ass home after work to change from work clothes (which would have been entirely serviceable, but not particularly date-worthy) into something more going-on-a-date appropriate.

AND THEN. OH MY GOD AND THEN. HE SHOWS UP ON THIS DATE WEARING THE SAME LOGO TEE, CARGO SHORTS (CARGO. FUCKING. SHORTS.) AND SNEAKERS SANS SOCKS.

I could. not. deal.

Post-show, post-dinner (what, like I was going to bail on a free dinner?) we start biking homeward. I turn off a few blocks early like SEE YOU NEVER, GOOD NIGHT.

I have not seen him since.

A Lady: Okay, remind me that we need to have a Serious Conversation about the relative value of a free meal, and how lentils can be just as delicious and will cost you $0.50 and no self-respect. Standards!

D: I have standards! Occasionally low and situationally-flexible as they may be: STANDARDS. And puffy, excessively-pocketed cargo shorts do not meet them.

AND THE THING IS: HE SAW ME SEE HIM the day before in that same ensemble. COME ON DUDE. Repeating sweaty biking clothes for a date the next night, no matter the contents of that outfit, is just fucking unacceptable. It's a symptom of a total lack of effort. If you cannot be bothered to change your goddamn clothes into something that does not suggest you might go home, get stoned, and listen to Phish, then I CANNOT BE BOTHERED TO GO OUT WITH YOU EVER AGAIN.

Fuck that. I might not always be immaculately pulled-together and turned out, but for the fuck of shit, I make an EFFORT. Not always a successful effort, but come on.

socially clumsy

I can't argue with A Lady on this. She notes:

"D, your dating life is like the social interaction equivalent of a montage of people walking into doors."

domestic

You guys, A Lady is making me breakfast right now, and I am wearing a pair of her fuzzy slippers.
Yes, awesome.

la belle dame avec bourbon

Okayokay, my turn. Readers, meet D. You might also know her as Nadarine. For Vicious intents and purposes, we'll call her D. D is fan-fucking-tabulous. She bikes in Potentially Inappropriate Outfits and doesn't give a damn. She knows how to wield a jigsaw (swoon). Her obsession with bacon occasionally concerns vegetarian me, but less for ethical and more for "I want to eat that stoppit" reasons. She fashions chandeliers, ginsicles, and stores her shoes more elegantly than you do. D introduced me to Mint.com and all its attendant guilt, viz., "Mint.com can be a cruel, cruel tyrant. But I DO love that it has a line item for weekly bar spending on my budget and does this without judging me." If you need someone to help you find a more discreet term for "drunk," D's your girl. She lets me harass her constantly, not minding when I text her at all hours about girl woes, girl triumphs, scale crises, and spending malaise.

Maybe, if we're very clever, we can persuade her to come visit me in Philthy. Or, at best, to meet up in New York and run riot. Shouldn't be too hard, no?