THE ATROCITIES I’VE SEEN
I mean, seriously, sometimes I’m surprised I haven’t already gouged out my own eyes. Truth be told, I did come pretty damn close once. I was in Pittsburgh, at the airport, or maybe it was Cincinnati. Doesn’t matter, really. There I was, just minding my own business, reading the newspaper and waiting for my flight to board, when a couple of women approached me.
“Are you Clinton?” one of them asked.
This question always kind of bugs me. You know it’s me. Just say hello and go back to your quadruple mocha latte. “Yep,” I replied, and looked up to see two of the most horrific outfits imaginable. Both women—both—were wearing horizontal-striped turtlenecks tucked into high-waisted Mom Jeans with white cross-trainers.
“We love your show!” said one.
“We watch it all the time!” declared the other.
I smiled and said thank you, because I’m a gentleman. But inside my little head, I screamed to the heavens with all my might: Why, God! Why do you hate me so much!
Maybe I get a tad exasperated from time to time, but certainly you can understand why. I’ve spent the good part of a decade explaining, with as much patience as I could muster, why you shouldn’t pair socks with sandals, why you might want to avoid tube tops after the age of forty, why elastic-waist pants are evil incarnate. But, evidently, not everyone is listening.
Still, I continue on with my mission to make America a more beautiful place. I’m like that Native American dude from the commercial who cries when he sees people litter. Except, I’m not crying. It’s more like I’m laughing at you. In fact, he’s laughing at you too. We’re having gin and tonics right now, and I was just telling him that your outfit was revolting. And you know what he said?
And how! Couldn’t you just die? I almost peed my pants a little.
© 2010 Clinton Kelly