They say it’s a royal colour, but I feel like a jackass.

I woke up before my alarm today. I felt awake enough to get up, despite the sub-7am hour. I didn’t think myself groggy, but it was still dark around the house. With my girlfriend still sleeping, I had no intention of being a dick-nozzle and flicking on the light. I rifled through my drawer in the dim room, looking for a T-shirt to match my pants.

[An aside]

Anyone who knows me reasonably well knows that excepting special occasions, putting work into my appearances isn’t high on my priorities. To this end, I’ve developed a simple system. My workplace wardrobe consists of coloured jeans and T-shirts. I’ll wear a pair of coloured jeans every day and I’ll match a complimentary coloured T-shirt to them. Each day I’ll cycle through the complimentary shirts until they’re all dirty (unless the pants get there first). When that happens, I swap my pants out for another colour and continue wearing complimentary T-shirts. Lather, rinse repeat. Once the dirty clothes basket gets to a certain threshold I’ll put on washing and a circle of life is achieved.

I am become a Street Fighter palette swap.

[Aside over]

I cast my eyes over to my purple pants and did a quick scan of the drawer. Charcoal shirt to the front right hand side. Easy, done. I tossed it on and went about my morning routine and went to work, reading my book (now on Kindle, marking the first time a book of mine has run out of batteries. A novel experience to say the least). I logged into my computer and after two coffees (I had my first coffee since returning from London. Then a co-worker dropped off a coffee as thanks for picking her boyfriend up some coco pops while on my trip), obviously needed the bathroom. You know where this is going, right?

The bathroom has a full length mirror. The charcoal T-shirt was not charcoal, but plum purple.

I look like I’m wearing two-piece pyjamas. I’m a walking eggplant emoji (in that I feel like a dick). I never intended to cosplay Grimace, but my dour expression sells it. I’m not even lavishly dressed to claim some kind of Prince get-up. If I at least had something brown I could pretend I was going for a PB&J theme, but I don’t. I have nary an accessory I can wear without excessive sweating. My only hope is that, like a newscaster, people walking past my desk can only see my upper half. For once I’ll be keeping my coat zipped up on the subway to hide my hidden shame.

By the way, does Grimace look like a giant butt-plug to anyone else? At least he has a flared base.


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