It happened again. A shirt appeared in the closet that neither of us own.
Going into the closet this morning I found, hanging on my nice and organized wood hanger side was a strange shirt. The rest of my polo’s were looking at me like “Uh…we don’t know him.” So, since it was hanging there tiring to blend in like Bea Arthur at a felcher’s convention. I quickly started to take it off my nice expensive Crate and Barrel wood hanger and return it to Fuzz’s Wal-Mart plastic hanger side.
Fuzzy stepped in and quickly declared.
“That’s not my shirt.”
“Well, it’s not mine.”
“Yes it is, or it belongs to your other boyfriend.“
“First, I would never sleep with a guy who would wear an Express for men, semi-sheer, sparkly blue stretch shirt. Second, it’s nice to know that if I did sleep with guys who wore Express for men, semi-sheer, sparkly blue stretch shirts. And if he left his shirt in the hamper, we have the type of relationship that you would launder his shirt, and hang it up so it wouldn’t get wrinkled. Not that you can wrinkle Express for men, semi-sheer sparkly blue stretch shirts.
Fuzzy, stopped to think then said “Hey, yet you automatically assume that this was my Express for men, semi-sheer, sparkly blue stretch shirt.
”I have never seen this shirt before in my life.”
We debated for the remainder of the morning on whose shirt it was, or how a 20 year old, glow stick swinging gay got into our house. At one point I had to remind Fuzzy about the back40 of his closet “the Structure zone” filled with wacky ties, banded collar and yes, shiny shirts. He insinuated that when he’s not around I pick up Aberzombies, just to steal their clothes. As I dropped him off this morning he kissed me goodbye and as he walked up the steps to work I hollered “…and keep your sluty bar wear off my nice wood hangers!!”