My life seems to carry with it a suggested idea that in someway, I seriously care about the clothes that I wear.
And I mean I do, but then again I don’t.
I mean I saw the shirt, loved the shirt and simply threw it in the wash a couple of times.
No big deal.
But apparently, as a result I’m required to have these intellectual conversations about certain bands and genres of music I like.
Or whatever else people seem to notice on my chest.
Which honestly leads me to believe most men are band-lovers.
Only I’m pretty sure avoiding eye contact is more comfortable for some, except now I can see you see me seeing you see me.
God, I hate that.
I mean, naturally gazing is one thing but staring into my soul is another.
I mean honestly, how do we look at people?
For me, mostly I’m in the middle. And if things get pretty awkward, I usually just say, “nice boobs.”
Until next time.
“I notice that you’re wearing a shirt…” — Paul from the coffee house on 39th & Lennox
