hawaiian shirts make me a bad person

Posted on April 15, 2008

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hawaiian shirts: never liked them, never will. I’ve got really particular aesthetic tastes; most people who know me understand that it’s part of who I am. sometimes I hate being so opinionated about how things look, and sometimes I’m glad that I possess enough sense to avoid wearing Teva sandals anywhere I stand a less-than-90% chance of being mauled by a bear.

this past Saturday, a dear friend hosted a luau-themed birthday party. now, despite my preferences, I’m no spoil sport/negative nancy/antagonistic alliteration, so I decided to purchase a hawaiian shirt, knowing full-well that it would me make me look like a grade-A dingbat, not unlike this guy:hawaiian shirt guy

I took a little trip to my neighborhood Baras Foundation thrift store, meandered around for a while, and settled on a hawaiian shirt. it’s greatest merit? it fit me okay.

as I walked around the store, looking at all the fun little things I could buy to decorate my future residence o’hipsterdom, I noticed maybe three other men, including the guy working behind the counter, wearing hawaiian shirts. indeed, these shirts of mid-Pacific America are like harry potter and clogs: I just don’t get it!

anyway, I walked up to the register to pay for the shirt. the guy starts making small talk – something I really don’t mind and, for the most part, enjoy – as he tidied up behind the counter while my credit card processed.

he said “ah, good taste,” referring to that damned floral print he had on himself. I laughed politely and mentioned the insanely hot weather. he agreed.

him: “so, you going to hawaii or something?”
me: “actually, yeah, I am.”

WHAT? I have absolutely no idea why I replied with such a blatant lie. I actually said “actually,” as if to cement my private jackassedness.

conclusion: hawaiian shirts make me lie.

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Posted in: reflection