Icy red, icy red, icy red.

Things aren’t going precisely to plan and I’m seeing red. I’m not pissed, so much as looking at life through tinted glasses. No metaphor, I’m literally wearing red glasses right now. It’s bizarre. How bizarre? I can’t see green crossing lights. Anything red instantly pops, making the TTC ride entirely surreal. I’m partially colour blind and I can’t help but feel that I’m seeing in vampire vision right now. If I’m bloodlusted, I’m the most benign vampire around. Any cravings I had were sated by the mocha I quaffed. My plans may be awry, but I’m keeping a level head. I’m calm, or as calm as one can be while seeing red, hopped up on caffeine and pseudoephedrine.

Any questions you have are quite reasonable right now. Why am I wearing red glasses? Why am I on a train? What plans? I’ve been talking about a fancy party for a few days, so it’s time I cleared that up.

I’m terrible at New Years Resolutions (like last year when I said I’d watch all of Seinfeld. I finished to the end of season two), but not everyone is. My friend told me his resolution was to go to more chic cocktail parties. Getting dressed up in his best fancy pants and knocking elbows with Toronto’s finest. There was some type of allure calling to me. Like for one night I could pretend I’m not the type of person who looks at the paper after I’ve wiped. Just to make sure I’m regular, y’know? So I told my friend to keep me abreast of any swanky soirées coming up. Lo and behold, the Toronto Public Library has an annual fundraiser, “Hush Hush”. This year is superhero themed, which means not costumes, but classy dress with superhero accents thrown in. So far up my alley it’s a strike. Only problem? I don’t own fancy things (flashback to The Shirt Saga). Are we about to cue a shopping montage? Damn straight.

I told a co-worker I needed help buying a suit and she damn near flipped her shit. “Be ready to leave in an hour.” She told me. I was marched out of the office and down to H&M, where she nabbed a sales assistant and told him everything I was looking for. We had an ally. The two of them conspired, handing me different shirts, pants and jackets to capture the right look. I’ve got awkward proportions, so it was tough to find something that fit my shoulders, chest and waist. After the 5th or so suit, we had a perfect fit. Swish. Dark blue with brown patches on the elbows. It looks better than I make it sound. Took it in to the tailors to get the sleeves and hems taken in and bam! $300 or so later and I own my first real adult suit.

So I’ve got a suit, I’m wearing red glasses and on a train. Where is this going? There’s an unknown variable, clearly. An “X” if you will. Or maybe an X-man. Cyclops, I’m going as the bespectacled team leader of everyone’s favourite mutants. Hence the red specs I picked up from a bunz trade, but there’s one more component missing to really make the costume pop. I’ve got hazel eyes, that’s no bueno for a dude whose eyes function as apertures to a dimension of concussive force (yeah, that’s really the explanation for his powers. Comic book logic, eh? I thought they were just the portal to his soul. Unless his soul is pure concussive force. That’s pretty metal). The solution? Red contact lenses. I went on the net and bought some red contact lenses, special ones that glow in UV light.

Thing is, they weren’t delivered in time. I waited patiently at home, only to discover the couriers picked them up from the store yesterday at 5pm and they don’t deliver on weekends. So now I’m railing on out to Etobicoke to pick them up in store. An hour transit each way. The things we do to look good, eh?

So now it’s simple, I just need to clean the new brown leather shoes I bought, iron a shirt (and which part of that is simple I’m not sure) and borrow a tie from a friend. Maybe even a shower and a shave. Sheesh. At this stage, including the ticket, I’ve spent over $500 to try look like a million bucks. All this for one party (and I guess everything I bought will serve for later occasions. I’m not gonna bin it all once I leave). Being fancy isn’t cheap.

No wonder I’m seeing red.

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