fail

I'm ashamed. I gave in to spousal pressure.

This morning I got up all excited and prepared to stack the lucky deck in my favor by piling on the lucky clothes in layers (see the post from yesterday for explanation). I shuffled my sleepy feet to the closet and opened my underwear draw. However, I was somewhat dismayed to find that all of my lucky boxers had been worn. This was a double shame because not only did I not have any clean lucky underwear to wear, but in wearing it earlier this week I had found no luck.

So I opened my T-shirt drawer. One T-shirt was left and it wasn't so much lucky as a favorite. Not all favorite T-shirts are lucky. This T-shirt was my pirate T that I got on vacation. I have never really associated this article of clothing with luck, but it hadn't been particularly unlucky either. Still, I couldn't exactly say I stacked the lucky deck in my favor if I was only wearing one layer of not-exactly-lucky clothes.

I looked to the dirty clothes hamper. Don't judge, those clothes weren't nasty dirty. Just worn. And from several feet away they didn't smell.

So then I was ready for work. I had three pair of underwear on; Scooby Doo, Ants and my samurai underwear. And I had two lucky shirts on; Aqua Teen and the Pirate shirt. All of this was under a mild mannered pair of khaki slacks and a sweater.

I was feeling whimsical and excited about the day. Then I went to the bathroom to tell my wife good-bye and to pee. Probably not in that order. It was oppressive hot in there because she had just taken a shower and I was wearing a bazillion layers of clothes.

Anyway, I made the mistake, in my giddy excitement, of asking her if she thought my layering of clothes would increase the luck factor of my day. "Take those off," she said.

"But I want to see if it makes me extra lucky!"

"It's gonna make you unlucky when you're trying to use the bathroom and you can't get through all of the underwear and you wind up peeing on yourself."

I didn't really think that her argument was that persuasive, but standing there in the bathroom, with three pair of underwear on, I suddenly felt a little silly. But mostly I was becoming aware that I really did smell like a dirty clothes hamper.

So, reluctantly I went to my closet and shed some extra layers. I looked down on the floor at my discarded semi-lucky clothes. "Maybe I'll just wear a shirt and tie," I said. Then the crotch of my Yoda boxers, lying in the hamper*, said, "That... is why you fail."

Now I'm wearing one lucky pair of underwear and a not-so-lucky, but well liked pirate T-shirt.

As I left the house this morning I stuck my head in the bathroom and said, "You don't understand performance art," to Rebecca.

She sympathetically said, "No."


* dear reader, I had to update this post to make it clear that the Yoda boxers were not on my person when they opened up and began to speak truisms of the Force to me. I've already received several questions about Yoda giving out tongue lashings and whether he keeps a stiff upper lip. Seriously people, that's just inappropriate.