Fa-Shon

The case of the fucked up dress has been solved!
Ok, the process has barely begun, but it will be solved come Sunday. My lovely and trusted tailor of 12 years is fixing it. Yes, I have a tailor. Sort of.

I hadn't seen him since I was 17... that's the last time I had him work on a quinceañera dress for me. It wasn't that I didn't like him, I was just part of weddings that forced me to get other tailors to work on me (none as great at their craft as this man).
I was saddened to learn he's going through chemo... for the second time. I sat there and acted as if everything was fine... and I played with his dog, which happened to piss on my left leg. But, it was the cutest little Chiuahua alive (must clarify, since the cutest Chihuahua to have ever existed was Petey, my guy buddy's chubby, whore-tastic Chihuahua who recently passed away), which loved me from the moment I walked through the door... so I let her piss on me. I appreciate love that much (however, dogs are the ONLY thing I will EVER allow to piss on me as a sign of their affection/fear/submission. Fuck all that other bullshit).
I made sure he tightened my girls... a lot. This bitch ain't finna breathe October 9th! I'm excited about this now... ha!

I may (hardly) have a fancy tailor and everything, but you'd never guess that if you caught a glimpse of my sleepwear.
I don't know what it is about the damn thing... but I have these patchwork pajama shorts that no matter how fucked they get (hmmm... maybe I should find a better word for that), I refuse to throw away. They have a total of eight holes. All, oddly enough, on my left asscheek (I have no idea what the hell I do in my sleep). The number should be nine, but two have fused into one major hole directly over the spot where the cheek and thigh fuse (yeah, so sexy... or trashy... or sad, whichever way you choose to see it, I will not get offended). This is way better than the new hole that I noticed last week. It's... right in the middle... right... you know... there.
So! Even with all these holes (which I see as extra ventilation), I choose to walk around the house in them. Mom complains- I don't care. Sister complains- I get even more in her face. However, I do have moments where I suddenly turn into a crab and walk sideways--ALWAYS facing forward-- whenever Dad enters the room... nuisance I full-heartedly accept.
Sorry, family... but these shorts... they're staying... until they fucking disintegrate, you hear me?
(Or if some poor, unfortunate soul happens to enter the room while I'm in those damn shorts, and they just so happen to not share DNA with me)