Friday, March 30, 2012
Jason laid his outfit on the bed: a tan two-button Hugo Boss suit, a sky-blue Brooks Brothers dress shirt, a navy tie and brown Florsheim Welles Oxford shoes. He tossed a pair of brown socks and a tank undershirt next to them.
Jason was not a man of means, but he knew how to dress a notch above his station in life. It had been ingrained in him. His mother demanded order, tucking and primping and tying up the freedom and chaos of his childhood into a neat, presentable package each day.
Now well into his 30’s, he still looked sharp. It was certainly his mother’s look … almost.
Jason opened his underwear drawer. It was brimming with color, wild designs, fire and ice. It looked like a clown had stumbled into his bedroom and vomited in his dresser after a night of drowning happiness in mango mojitos.
He selected a fuzzy beige banana-hammock with lolling blue eyeballs on each side and floppy ears sewn into the side straps. Jason shivered and smiled as he pulled it up over his thighs.
He put on his suit, tied his shoes and straightened his tie. And as he walked out the door, Jason wished what he always wished to start his day: Please let me get hit by a bus and have to go to the hospital.