That rarest of species
Before my interview a couple of Fridays ago, I was on a do-or-die mission to hunt down, in the dense and foreboding retail woods of San Leandro, an elusive creature: brown slacks.
I hear you silently scratching your heads, faces quizzical, wondering why I would be hunting for brown slacks, and even if I do have such pedestrian taste as to covet brown slacks, why on earth they should be elusive.
First, if you come from the Land of Slender Hips (LOSH--like "lost", but drunk), they are as common as crows, and I understand and envy your puzzlement. You may stop reading now and congratulate yourself on your good fortune, diet and exercise regime. Second, I should let you know that I was actually searching for a very rare species of the brown slack genus: the chocolate-fitted-low-on-waist-with-generous-rump-straight-legged-summer-weight brown slacks. Finally, I must tell you that the only interview-appropriate shoes I could find in my it's-either-vagrant-or-cocktail-party wardrobe were a tawny beige slingback, thus necessitating a pant of the family brown.
After patiently tracking my prey for several hours in the deepest reaches of the treacherous jungle, I caught a glimpse of a perfect CFLOWWGRSLSWBS specimen--magnificent! Exhilarating!--and raced to secure it in my Choice Apparel Repository & Transport device (or CART, as it's more commonly known), then sprinted purposefully toward the approved Review Of Okayness Module, where I discovered that the specimen was a genetic sport of the rarest kind: a true example of PWMMBLS (pants-which-make-my-butt-look-smaller). This almost-unheard-of variation--though slightly more common than the albino PWMMBLS, which has only been verifiably spotted once, and that back in 1983--was a great joy to behold.
I wore the CFLOWWGRSLSWBS-PWMMBLS to my job interview, and I got the job.
I wore the CFLOWWGRSLSWBS-PWMMBLS to my second day on the job, and I was complimented on my exceptional first-day's work.
I wore the CFLOWWGRSLSWBS-PWMMBLS to my pharmacy, and both the elderly security guard and the be-smocked teenaged CART-wrangler smiled at me.
I wore the CFLOWWGRSLSWBS-PWMMBLS to my R.E. consult, and he called me "young." (Were ever more seductive words spoken by an R.E. to a thirty-five-year-old Poor Responder? I think not.)
Finally, I stepped on the R.E.'s scale in the CFLOWWGRSLSWBS-PWMMBLS and was, quite miraculously, told I had lost ten pounds. (Were ever more seductive words spoken by a computer-voiced digital scale? I think not.)
May the CFLOWWGRSLSWABS-PWMMBLS last for all eternity. I would return even my hard-won, ART-regulation pajamas to the inaccessible wilds for a second specimen.