Jeez LouISE what a hot new polo shirt! Hip, charming pastels, sturdy collar for maximum poppage, and a bitchin’ crocodile logo. You hear that, restless hordes of untrendy swine? A friggin’ crocodile! Stick that in your pipe and smoke it!
You swagger down the street with a frightening confidence, high fiving strangers and unabashedly inviting them to feast their eyes upon your stylish threads. “Note the crocodile,” you blare. They stare at you sideways, with the slightest hint of a smirk upon their unwashed faces, but you pay it no mind. They’re probably just jealous. Not everyone can pull this off with such massive amounts of panache.
Following a lengthy string of vigorous thumbs-up, you decide it’s time for a rest from the celebrations. You draw your hands back to your sides, where you suddenly feel an odd fluttering. What could possibly be dangling from the sleeve? Surely in your outrageous excitement to don such a flattering garment you didn’t forget to take off the tag? Such a mistake can only be made by people who aren’t worthy of displaying deadly animals upon their breast!
But, no. There it is, waving in the breeze, mocking both you and your vampire-like collar. You quickly begin to paw at it, tearing and clawing, much to the amusement of the pedestrians around you. Once it becomes clear that the miniscule string of plastic is too strong for your puny little hands, you finally resort to biting, which isn’t easy since the human body isn’t designed to bend that way. You continue to gnaw through the cord like a feral hamster, contorted and bent over in several different yoga positions until finally, at long last, you break it free. By this point, a large crowd has gathered to gape and chuckle at your retarded antics. You burst past them, scowling, still secure in the knowledge that they just don’t understand real fashion.
You keep walking for a few blocks more, once again building up the confidence to show off and accost random passsers-by. But they’re still laughing at you! What in the gosh darn HECK? You wisely pause at a large display window to glance at your reflection, and it is there that your heart sinks. There it is. A large sticker, smack dab in the middle of your torso, screaming “MEDIUM! MEDIUM!” in a gigantic, grotesque, horrendously goofy font. Horrified, you tear it off, flinging it desperately at a nearby trash can, which it misses. You sink to the ground. Your day is ruined. Your shirt is ruined. Your life, beyond a shadow of a doubt, is completely ruined.
So if you want to suck at life, forget to remove a price tag. The documentation of the cost will be out there for all to see, but just remember: you can’t put a price on humiliation.